Only The Young I: Convergence
by IndigoRiot
Summary: After a joint effort between the BBA and OMEGA corp, a new round of tournaments is announced: The All-Stars Battle Royale! Tyson and the gang prepare to meet with old friends and rivals alike as 'bladers from across the world come together in a tale of friendship - friendship which is sure to be tested with a distant and mysterious threat looming on the horizon. AU, Post-Season One
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Dusk. And as rain fell over the streets of Prague, Hiro planted his hands a little further down in his pockets, and shivered.

The city was quiet tonight, he thought. Well, at least as quiet as one could expect in the middle of such a downpour. The empty streets echoed with the splattering of raindrops and the slow, gushing and churning of drains. Some blocks away, Hiro thought he heard one of the night buses sail across the waterlogged cobbles, and he was silently thankful that there were no vehicles making their way down this particular street – he was drenched enough already.

He should have bought that umbrella.

Why the director decided to set up the international headquarters of a multi-million dollar organisation in the rainiest city on the planet, he would never understand... Sure, the city had its charm, he guessed. As Hiro looked up towards the skyline, the tall, imposing classical towers and looming cathedrals were impressive to say the least – even through the ghostly veil of rain and moonlight, it was a sight to behold. From Gothic and Baroque, to neo-Renaissance and Art-Nouveau, it seemed as though not a century had passed by without leaving some kind of trace in this majestic and historical city. There was nothing like this back home in Japan.

That wasn't to say, of course, that Japan was any less majestic or historical. In fact, Japan's history is one that very few countries could outmatch, in his opinion. There was an elegance and graceful superiority in the ancient wooden beams of their palaces, in the intricate ceramic tiles, lacquered furniture and fine, silken robes of times long since past. But there was something hard and cold in these Gothic towers, something intimidating in the chiselled faces of the gargoyles atop the churches, and something strong in the tall, iron-wrought fences that he had never yet found in any Japanese city, ancient or modern. And, with or without the sheet of rain, the harsh beauty of Prague was something that always, ever so slightly, took his breath away.

Hiro snorted to himself derisively. Perhaps the director was an artist at heart, then.

Turning the corner, lightning flashed overhead and, as the thunder rumbled across the sky, Hiro sidestepped slightly and took shelter under the canopy of a small cafe nestled between what seemed to be a 17th century church and a modern art gallery. He sighed, however, to discover that, not only was the cafe closed, but the canopy itself did little to shelter him from the storm. The wind had decided to pick up speed, apparently, and was now urging the rain to follow him under his shelter. And as the air whistled past the buildings, it sounded to Hiro distinctly like sly laughing.

Figures.

Serves him right for walking home instead of taking the bus.

Looking down the street, he spotted a public-phone box on the corner and - before he'd even made a conscious decision to take cover there- his legs were already carrying him down the road, his boots splashing through puddles and squelching through mud in an uncomfortably soggy sprint for the phone-box.

He really should have bought that umbrella.

Hastily closing the door behind him, Hiro leaned his weight against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, the sound of the rain pounding on the roof of the phone-box was annoying as hell and, yes, he was already soaked to the bone, but as he looked out of the glass towards the waterlogged street, there was something about being out of the actual rain that made him feel slightly better.

Unfortunately, there was something about being inside a phone-box that made him feel more than slightly worse.

Hiro had been delaying this phone-call.

He'd meant to make it when he arrived back at the hotel. Of course, he could have been back over half an hour ago if he'd just taken the bus... but he'd decided to walk instead. Even in weather such as this – even though Hiro _hated_ the cold and the wet – he'd preferred the thought of being soaked to the bone over making that phone-call any sooner.

Of course, there's a remarkable difference between the thought of being soaked, and _actually_ being soaked, as Hiro was now discovering. As he looked over the keypad of the phone, he silently assessed the situation. He was cold. He was wet. And he was tired.

He was really, really tired.

Picking up the receiver, he began to punch in a number that he'd had to dial more times than he would have liked this year – only this time it was with a heavy heart, because all of their suspicions, it seemed, were true.

He'd thought it was nonsense, at the start. After all, things like this just didn't happen. The Abbey was a one-off. A mistake. Just one mad-man who'd been allowed to slip under the radar for far too long. But that was it. It wasn't something that could happen again, and certainly not under everyone's noses. Only now, Hiro feared, it had been.

And he'd been blind to it all, even as he'd aided in their rise to power.

When he'd graduated from university last summer, he'd had every intention of returning home. Although his studies had taken him to the USA and he'd met a lot of new people and discovered many things, both about himself and the world around him, he'd never intended to remain there. He'd planned on returning to Japan and spending some time with his little brother. Tyson had enough absent family members, without him adding to their numbers, too. Although their Grandpa did the best he could for the teen, Hiro was sure Tyson felt lonely, maybe even abandoned sometimes, despite how well he covered it up.

So back to Japan he would go, then. Maybe he could find a job with the BBA in coaching, or recruitment perhaps. And maybe he could help turn things around for the company - especially after all the heat it was receiving from the media following the incidents of the beyblading world cup finals in Moscow. Truth is, the world of beyblade had really taken a hit, and the thought that it could be used for warfare had shaken a lot of people's confidence in the sport. Now, instead of being viewed as a bit of fun or an alternative hobby, it was now shunned as something dangerous, something parents didn't want their kids to be involved with. And Hiro couldn't really blame them, he supposed.

So when he was approached by a representative of the Beyblade Entertainment Global Association and given a business card during the end-of-semester careers fair - before he'd even packed his bags, let alone stepped foot on the plane back to Japan - he had to think long and hard about what to do. Of course he wanted to go back home, he really did. He loved his brother, and hated the thought of letting him down. But this... it wasn't the kind of opportunity a green-nosed graduate, fresh out of college, could turn down. The opportunity to teach, train, travel, and revitalise the sport of beyblading was just too good to be true, and that was before Hiro even factored in the generous salary.

Sure, he was a little unnerved when Mr Dickenson approached him, warned him about the association and told him not to divulge any personal information to the company – especially his name. What a strange request that was... In fact, if Hiro hadn't known the man, he would have thought he was going senile in his old age. But, he reasoned, how bad could this new association really be? Besides, he was only offered a two year contract, so it wasn't as though he'd be signing his life away. And there would be plenty of time to catch up with Tyson when he wasn't scouting for new talent...

So, he signed up.

And things were great.

Although, Hiro realised now, probably a little too great.

And, as the navy-haired young man lifted the phone off the receiver and placed it to his ear, he listened to the dialling tone and mentally summarised what he'd seen today, and the suspicions he had to report.

* * *

"It's not that we don't trust your judgement, but the bottom line is this: we just don't have the financial backing for such an enterprise. I'm sorry, Stanley."

Mr Dickenson sighed. In truth, he had expected as much. He paused for a moment, considering what to say in response. But what could he say? That an old man can only hope... But not to worry, old chap, I'll just reconsider our approach... Back to the old drawing board, eh!

It's not as though he could just call for a board meeting, stroll right in and declare war on the second largest beyblading association in the world for no reason. Even as he hesitantly surrendered some of his suspicions to the board members, they were quickly dismissed when a background check on the company came out whiter than a pair of sun-bleached tennis shorts.

But who was he kidding. They were right, after all. They didn't have the financial backing to stage a tournament. After the incident in Moscow and the exposure of Balkov Abbey, the BBA had one hand tied behind their back and the other completely full with the rehabilitation of those poor, young boys – simply because there were no other organisations who knew how to deal with such a thing. That a simple sport could be so misused was unprecedented.

Stanley sighed again, and his eyes shifted to one of the files atop his desk. 'Demolition Boys' typed across the centre in proud, bold text, with a large red stamp in the top left corner that almost sneered 'disbanded'. He picked it up and, not for the first time today, flicked through its contents distractedly.

 _Yuri 'Tala Valkov' Ivanow, 17; location – Russia, Moscow, attending Moscow High_

 _Bryan Kuznetsov, 17; location – North America, Michigan, attending West Side Academy_

 _Spencer Petrov, 18; location – Russia, St Petersburg, attending International Academy of St Petersburg_

 _Ian Papov, 15; location – Russia, Moscow, attending Moscow High_

Along with details of their blading history, their wins and losses, beyblade specifications and titles won, were more distressing documentations and records. Mr Dickenson recalled the trouble he and the other senior members of the BBA had in attempting to relocate the families of all the boys from the Abbey. Each of the Demolition Boys had, thankfully, been found somewhere to call home – although he certainly could not say the same for every boy's case he'd dealt with.

Ian's family could not be traced. After many failed foster attempts, Tala's new found parents had offered him a place under their roof. Word from the grapevine was that the two teens had settled in well enough, though it had been a long and painstaking process. Mr and Mrs Ivanov were a lovely couple, overwhelmed with gratitude that they had been reunited with their long-lost son. Dickenson had no doubts that their warmth would eventually heal whatever scars the Abbey had left on these boys – they were still young, after all.

Spencer, the eldest of the team, had moved to St Petersburg after it was discovered his paternal Aunt had made residence there. The gentle giant had apparently been orphaned at a young age and was taken to the Abbey by some concerned neighbours who thought they were doing the right thing.

And Bryan... Mr Dickenson was ashamed to admit that he'd had sent possibly the most troubled member of the team halfway across the globe, far away from his teammates, to live with a father who hadn't even bothered looking for him after he'd ran away from home. He suspected that the young man's violent disposition was not simply a by-product of his time in the Abbey, but of his childhood before then, too. Dickenson was sorry to have sent him to America but... with the BBA as stretched as it was at the time, Dickenson hadn't the time or resources to figure out an alternative. He'd had no choice. Bryan was a minor, and he had a family to go to. And that was that. News was... scare, on the grey-eyed teen's side and, considering the boy's violent tendencies - which were so elaborately displayed in his battle against Rei in the finals - Mr Dickenson could only assume that no news was good news.

"Stanley?.. Is everything alright?"

Mr Dickenson looked into the faces of the board on the screen before him. Ah... modern technology. In years past, the leaders of the international branches of the BBA would have had to have made lengthy trips to attend such meetings. Now it could all be done over the internet, via conference calls.

Of course, the BBA hadn't even existed in years past, but that was besides the point...

"Yes, yes," he spoke to the monitor, "Well, I had expected as much. But you can't blame an old man for trying," he said with a tired smile. "But, if I may suggest -"

Whatever Dickenson was about to suggest, however, the board never got to hear because, at that moment, he was interrupted by a harsh bleeping from the intercom at his desk.

"I'm sorry," he said towards the monitor while reaching for the button on the intercom, "if you'll excuse me for just a moment. Yes, Julianne?"

 _'I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I have Arashi Jin waiting for you on Line Three. He says it's urgent.'_

"Oh, is that so? Well, we mustn't keep him waiting a moment longer. Gentlemen," he said one more to the screen on his desk, "I'm afraid have a rather pressing matter to attend." It was with some measure of distraction that Stanley went about rescheduling the remainder of the meeting with the board members for a later date.

This arrangement with the young Kinomiya was... well, it wasn't one of his proudest moments. Dickenson supposed he would have to just shuffle it off to the side, let it join the large queue of many other moments in his life that he wasn't proud of. It certainly wasn't the first and, he was loath to say, he didn't think it would be the last, either. He wondered, vaguely, if the ends justified the means. He sincerely hoped they did. And yet he so sincerely hoped that they didn't have to. Unfortunately, all the hoping in the world wouldn't change the situation he feared they were in.

"Hello, Hiro," he said tiredly, putting the phone on speaker as soon as his conference-call was over. "How's the weather in Prague tonight?" he asked. The trace of humour in his voice was thin.

 _\- A little wet. -_

Mr Dickenson smiled despite himself. From the sound of the thundering rain over the speaker, he'd be willing to bet that the weather was slightly more than a little wet. "So it would seem." And then, on to business. "Is the line secure?"

 _\- As secure as a public phone-box on the street can be. -_

Hm. Good. There was much less chance of a public line being traced or recorded. "Well then, how have you -"

 _\- It's Garland. -_ Hiro interrupted.

Dickenson couldn't help but notice how tense the young man on the other end of the line sounded. "Garland? The Seibald boy you scouted in Germany last Winter? "

 _Yes, that the one. -_

"What about him? Is he alright, did – did something happ -"

 _\- No, no it's nothing like that, he's fine. But, I don't know... he's not okay. Something isn't right, it's like.. it's difficult to explain. He -_

"Hiro, Hiro, calm yourself. Collect your thoughts and start from the beginning. You said last week that you'd received an invitation from the director?"

 _\- Yes -_

"And did you see him?" Dickenson asked hastily, the words out of his mouth before he could think about stopping them. He hated to sway the topic of conversation away from what was obviously troubling young Hiro, but the identity of Bega's director had so far remained elusive, and Stanley considered it of utmost importance.

 _\- No, I didn't. But he was there, I think... on the upper observation deck. But I couldn't make out any details. It might not even have been him. -_

Dickenson sighed. Once again, he'd expected as much. "No matter. Back to the matter at hand then. This invitation..."

 _-Yeah, well, I was invited to a private exhibition here in Prague, down at headquarters. Like I said before, this is where they train the more talented recruits. And Dr Kellhardt approached me where I was waiting in the main hall and said we were going sub-level. She said she'd decided that it was high time I saw 'the fruits of my labour'. -_

"Did she really…?" Dickenson mused. Well, this was certainly a development. To this point, it seemed to him that Bega were very careful on the information they gave out to their scouts. Hiro's job was, after all, simply to bring talent into the arms of the association. Afterwards, they were no longer his concern. "So what, exactly, did you see?"

 _\- Mr Dickenson, I don't even know. But I was lead down this... long corridor, I guess. They had several students running obstacle courses with their beyblades in tow – agility training, I suppose. And in the centre was this stage and Dr. K called up three students. One of them was a guy I'd never seen before, the other was the girl Angie scouted about a year back – the little pop-star girl. The other was Garland... -_

Dickenson pictured the scene in his mind. Yes, he knew the girl. Her name was Ming-Ming, if he wasn't mistaken. She was fast becoming the face of Bega – or at least, one of the many faces of Bega. Ming-Ming had the biggest influence over Japanese and Korean fans, her cute charm and peppy attitude winning the children and adults over alike.

 _\- And the demonstration, -_ Hiro paused here to whistle, - _it was unreal. I've seen Garland and Ming-Ming blade before and they're both incredible but this... it shouldn't be possible. It's crazy. I mean... okay. This is what I saw. Garland was kicking through walls and breaking beams with his bare hands, Ming-Ming was shattering panes of glass and the third kid was... I don't know, it was like he was moving the shadows or... or something. Mr Dickenson, I know this sounds crazy but, there wasn't a beyblade in sight. Anywhere. I don't know how they did it but... -_

" …But it can't be good," Dickenson concluded, trying and failing to dispel the chill that had descended along his spine. Oh, he'd read the reports alright, he knew all about the experiments and trials. He just hadn't imagined that Bega had gotten this far this quickly. "You understand that this is dangerous information, Hiro. You can't breathe a word of it to anybody. If my suspicions are correct and anyone at Bega discover what you've revealed -"

 _\- They won't. -_

"You have to act normal, as though nothing has changed."

- _I will._ -

"Good."

Dickenson cursed silently. He should never have allowed things to progress as far as they had. But what could he have done? He'd had both hands tied behind his back, what with the Abbey and the media and their failing popularity - he'd tried his best with the resources he had...

He looked down towards the other file on his desk, and sighed. All the teams who'd participated in the last World Championships. Those boys and girls who had braved trials they hadn't even known existed, all for the fall of the Abbey. The All-Starz, the White Tigers, the Majestics. At the top of this pile was the file on the Bladebreakers, which also had a same bold, red stamp across it. 'Disbanded.'

 _Kai Hiwitari, 17; location – Japan, Tokyo, attenting Whitford Prepatory School_

 _Tyson Kinomiya, 15, location – Japan, Bakuten, attending Bakuten High_

 _Max Tate, 15, location – Japan, Bakuten_

 _Rei Kon, 16, China, Hong Kong_

 _Kenny 'the Chief' Saien, 15, location – Japan, Bakuten, attending Bakuten High_

Mr Dickenson smiled an old man's smile as he remembered the young, rag-tag team after the Japanese regionals. They were full of fresh excitement and vigour for the sport. Despite their differences, they'd bonded well as a team over the course of their journey, and were beyblading like seasoned professionals quicker than he could have hoped for. He'd had high hopes for these young men right from the start, and they'd done him more than proud.

It was with more than a little shame, then, that he recalled his plans to use this team as a means to bring down the Abbey – those boys were too young to have such a burden placed on their shoulders, and Kai wasn't yet ready to face his past. The whole tournament was a sham. A gamble. But Stanley had received word that Boris Balkov's plans would be put into action that year, and Dickenson had to take the initiative and beat him at his own game. As it happens, his plans were a success. All was well in the end, and he could only thank the heavens for that.

 _\- Mr Dickenson..? -_

Lost in his thoughts, Stanley had almost forgotten that Hiro was still on the line, waiting. For what, he could only imagine. For further instructions, for reassurance that things weren't quite as bad as they seemed – that things weren't _at all_ as bad as they seemed. But Stanley could not deliver on any of these.

"I'm sorry, Hiro. It was never my intention to have you in the midst of something so potentially hazardous," he said, regret seeping from every syllable. Since when had the world of beyblading grown so... dark? So dangerous? "This is the last place on earth I'd want to send you... but we need to know what we're up against."

 _\- Don't worry about me, Mr D. No one at Bega suspects and thing and... well, after today, I think I need to see this through. -_

"Thank you, Hiro. Now, on to business, then. Seeing as Bega's experiments seem to have progressed far beyond what I'd anticipated, I'm going to have to make a move," Mr Dickenson said slowly. "Now, I suspect you're not going to like what I have in mind."

- _I suppose it's too much for me to ask that you leave my brother out of this...? -_

Dickenson sighed.

When all else fails... when warnings fall on deaf ears and time counts against you. When experience runs dry and knowledge misdirects. When the old have nothing else to sacrifice, and nothing more to give, what else remains?

Only the young.

"I'm afraid so, Hiro."

Hiro sighed.

 _\- I'd thought as much... -_

* * *

 **AN:** Hey guys. Hey, guess who's back... heh heh heh... heh. Hello?

Alright, well... where do I start? I really have had a full couple of years, filled with heartbreak and new love, joy and troubled times. Just... life in general, I suppose. Over the past few months though, I really, really , _really_ have been itching to get back on here to finish what I started all that time ago. So - here I am.

For those of you who might have read The Spaces In Between, I'm sure you've spied some similarities. That is because I have been hard at work completely revamping that story, smoothing over cracks, filling in plot holes, refining characters and events and what have you. The entirety of the first 'book' (Convergence) is complete, and I'm now well underway in filling out my plans for the second. So, I felt it was time to dust off this ball and get it rolling at last.

You'll be seeing a lot of familiar scenes if you've read Spaces, but if you like what you've read here then stick around, there's plenty of new material too! If you haven't, then I hope you'll stick around anyway!

See you next week with another update!

~ Indie


	2. The Letter

**A/N: ** Next chapter up, as promised. See? I'm doing much better! :3 Anyway, for previous readers there are only some minor changes ahead, mostly editorial, with a little bit of plot tweaking.  
As always, I'd like to say a big thank-you to those of you who left reviews. It's late as I'm publishing this and my bed is calling, but I'll get on to responding to those reviews asap!

* * *

 **Chapter One: The Letter**

"MAAAAAX!"

Tyson was bellowing at the top of his lungs as he ran full speed out of the dojo and out on to the main street.

"Tyyy-son – waait!" called the timid and already out-of-breath voice of Kenny. He came out of the dojo soon after and was running rather awkwardly with Dizzi in his arms, trying to catch up with his loud-mouthed classmate.

"Sorry Chief, no time! I've just _gotta_ tell Maxi –– MAAXX!"

"TY-SON! You get back here right now!" The shrill voice of Hilary Tachibana rang painfully in Tyson's ears. Soon enough, she had over taken Kenny and was hot on Tyson's heels, clutching a stack of papers under one arm which, one-by-one, fluttered out and trailed behind her as she ran. Poor Kenny was smacked right in the face by one of these papers, and he was left blundering behind as he tried to untangle himself without dropping his precious Dizzi. "YOU are supposed to be helping ME hand out these leaflets as a punishment for sleeping in class, Tyson, and I am NOT going to let you worm your way out of it like you did last week!" she shrieked.

"Urghh, get lost Hilary!" Tyson growled, "I've got more important things to do right now than hand out your stupid papers!" He yelled over his shoulder, and quickened the pace when he saw how close the screeching girl was. The pair continued to sprint and yell at each other all the way down the street, earning surprised and disgruntled looks from passers-by.

Tyson just didn't understand why Hilary chose today of all days to pester him with her stupid errands. Not that he really appreciated it any other day either, but when he got home after school today his grandpa told him, with a twinkle in his eye, that he had some mail (after, of course, trying to knock his head off with a sneak attack. "Gotta keep yer reflexes sharp, homie!"). Now, Tyson didn't usually didn't get any mail apart from the odd letter or two from his father or brother, so naturally he couldn't wait to see what it was. Imagine his surprise when he saw that it was addressed from the BBA. He ripped it open as quickly as he could and scanned the contents, his eyes brightening and grin widening with every line. _You have got to be kidding me,_ he thought. 'Hey gramps, guess what!?' he'd said with a grin.

And that was when Hilary came.

Now he was pounding his way towards his best friend's house with a shrieking harpy on his heels, and a letter clutched firmly in his hand, waiting to see if Max had gotten one too. It was so exciting that Tyson could hardly believe it. He would've asked someone to pinch him so he could find out if it was real or not – but since Hilary's shrieking in his ears was painful enough, he guessed that it couldn't be a dream. Hell, he wouldn't even be dreaming of Hilary in the first place. So obviously, then, this whole thing must really be happening, and Tyson found himself getting more and more hyped up than he already was.

"MAAAAAAX!" he yelled again as he rounded a corner and saw Max's place coming in to view. "You have to see this! –– MAAAX!" Tyson came skidding to a halt in front of Max's, just in time to see his father open the door.

"Well hello there, Tyson," he said with a chuckle, "I thought it might be you - I could hear you coming half way down the street."

"Hi, Mr Tate, good afternoon!" Tyson said, so fast that it was hard to tell where one word ended and the next began. "Is Maxi in, there's something I gotta–"

"TY-son!" Hilary yelled. Tyson span around irritably and was about to let loose a snarky comment about being interrupted when he was suddenly rugby tackled to the ground by a raving Hilary. "I TOLD you to stop! You're supposed to be helping me!"

"How many times, Hilary? I don't care about your stupid papers! Arghh – I need to speak to Max! I don't have _time_ to hand out leaflets!"

"I'm sure Max won't mind waiting when he finds out you're doing it because you fell asleep in class, again! Not to mention that–"

"–That's besides the point Hilary, because I'm not doing it at all!"

"Oh yes you are, Tyson!"

"No I'm not!"

The pair continued to shout and kick and roll about on the lawn outside the Tate's house long enough for Kenny to catch up, pink-faced, gasping for breath and clutching a cramp in his ribs.

"Oh, hey Kenny," said Mr Tate, turning his head with a smile upon seeing the small bespectacled brunette arrive.

"Good afternoon, Mr Tate," Kenny said. Then, looking at the brawling pair on the ground said, "I'm sorry about those two, by the way. It seems like Tyson's biggest pastime these days is fighting with Hilary – besides eating, of course."

"Oh!" Max's dad said with a laugh, "Don't worry about it. I might be old now, but I remember what it was like to be young and in love." Overhearing this, the said pair immediately recoiled from one another with cries of disgust, much to the amusement of Kenny and the older man.

"Umm, Mr Tate, I don't know if Tyson's said yet, but, he's looking for Max." Kenny said. "Is he home?"

"Sure he is, Kenny. He's just down in the basement working on his beyblade," he said. "I'll call him up."

"Haha, no need, Dad!" The ever-cheerful voice of Max could be heard from inside the house and, soon enough, he appeared in the doorway behind his father. "I could hear those two loud-mouths all the way downstairs!"

"Oh hey –– Max, get over here! I've gotta show you something right now!" Tyson said, his words jumbling together again in haste. He was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, and Hilary kept shooting him unimpressed looks as she started to gather the leaflets that had been scattered during their fight. It was at times like these, she thought, that you realised just why Tyson wasn't fat despite his walrus-like appetite – his mouth simply burned it all off.

Max greeted Kenny and Hilary quickly as he stepped out of his house before turning to Tyson. "What is it, Ty?" Max asked excitedly. "It's gotta be good if its got you all hyped up like this!"

"Ooh, you bet it is Maxi! Have you checked your mail yet?" he asked. The answer was a swift shake of the head. "Well, you better take a look at this then – It's from the BBA!" Tyson said triumphantly, and handed the letter over to Max with a flourish.

Tyson watched eagerly as Max read the letter, his expression becoming more and more excited the further down he read. Mr Tate and Kenny crept up behind him to try and read over his shoulder, but the attempt backfired when Max all but exploded, throwing his arms in the air and jumping up and down, almost hitting them both in the face.

"NO WAY! Are you serious? Tyson, when did you get this!?"

"I know, right?! I got it today after school!"

"Oh man – I'm gonna go see if I got one too!"

The duo ran over to the mail box at the end of the drive and, sure enough, by the sounds of their whooping it turned out that Max, too, had received a letter from the BBA.

In their haste to run over and harass the mailbox, Max dropped the first letter and it now lay forgotten on the ground. Looking down, Mr Tate noticed it and, skim-reading it quietly, said with a smile, "Ah, so that's what has them so excited."

"What does it say, Mr Tate? I never got a chance to see it before Tyson rocketed out of the dojo." said Kenny, his curiosity getting the better of him. Besides, if it's from the BBA, Kenny reasoned to himself, it ought to involve him too, since he _was_ a part of team.

"I want to see too. I'd like to know what's keeping Tyson away from his leaflet delivery duty." Hilary demanded huffily, shooting a dark look over to the celebrating pair.

"Alright, kids," said Max's dad with a chuckle, "I'll read it out;

 _Dear Tyson Kinomiya,_

 _You are cordially invited to participate in the very first Annual All-Stars Battle Royale._

 _This exciting, new line of tournament is a result of the collaborative efforts between the Beyblade Battle Association and the Beyblade Entertainment Global Association. Both organisations have worked tirelessly in recent months to revitalise the sport of Beyblade, and ensure that the sport continues to grow in popularity and entertainment._

 _The tournament itself will be on a similar scale to that of the World Championships, but with a twist. That's all the information we can divulge at this time, but you can be certain of the opportunity to test your skills in battle. There will be no shortage of challenge, fun or entertainment at the Battle Royale._

 _It has been proposed that in the last week of June, the eight participating teams will gather at the BBA headquarters in Colorado, USA, for a preparatory two week training retreat before the events begin. It will be a chance to meet, train, and spend some time getting to know your fellow beybladers from around the before the competition heats up._

 _The other members of your team will have been notified of the upcoming tournament via this letter also. We ask that you get in contact with them if you are not already, and discuss whether your team will be representing the BBA, and then contact your local office to confirm your attendance._

 _Best regards,_

 _Mr Dickenson,_

 _CEO."_

There was a moment of stunned silence between the pair of brunettes. The first to break it was Kenny.

"Wow, another international tournament?" he said with a grin. "No wonder they're so excited." He looked over to Max and Tyson, who were now speculating on the other teams that might appear in the tournament.

"Ughh," droned Hilary, "of course he's excited, Kenny. The only thing he ever puts any effort into is blading." She snarked, with a sideward glance towards where Tyson and Max were sitting near the mailbox.

Tyson, overhearing this, replied over his shoulder, "Ha! You're just saying that 'cause you can't spin a blade for beans."

"And why exactly would I even _want_ to blade, Tyson? All you do is stare and shout at your beyblade - and get all and sweaty and stinky during matches 'cause of all your shouting." she said, huffily.

Mr Tate, sensing another argument brewing, handed the letter to Kenny and went back inside the house, shaking his head with a chuckle and muttering something about 'kids.'

"I'll have you know, Hilary," said Tyson, spinning around on his bottom and narrowing his eyes at her from across the lawn, "that blading is actually a very technical sport, requiring _a lot_ of skill and discipline."

"Ha! Which, I'm sorry to break it to you, Tyson, you don't have any of," she replied, folding her arms and looking down her little button nose at him.

"Argh, right––!" Tyson bristled, "that's it!" He rose up from the grass and started marching over to her, but not before Max slung and arm over his shoulders and stopped Tyson's onslaught towards his class-president.

"Hey you two, lighten up! You're forgetting that we also blade because it's fun, right?" he said, looking between the pair of hot-heads, playing the peacemaker.

In truth, Hilary did quite like to watch Tyson and Max when they bladed. At first the sport baffled her and seemed completely stupid, but the more she watched them blade, the more interested in it she became. Eventually, she started to help them train with Kenny, if only because she enjoyed annoying Tyson by ordering him around outside of school as well as in it. She even went to watch the regionals this spring, and cheered him and Max on. Of course, she still thought the sport was silly, but it was the people who played it that she found fascinating. And, of course, she _had_ tried her hand at blading once and she really _was_ terrible at it, which annoyed her to hell. But she'd never admit that to Tyson – it would only give him more ammunition to use against her, which he didn't really need.

"And also," Max continued, snapping Hilary out of her little reverie, "we're going to be in a tournament this summer! How awesome is that? The Bladebreakers are gonna be a team again!"

Tyson immediately lightened up again. "Haha, yeah! Man, I can't wait to face it off against the world again! I'll bet'cha that the All-Stars are gonna be there too!"

"Yeah, and maybe the White Tigers, and the Majestics -"

"- And we're gonna beat all of 'em!" Tyson declared, fist-pumping the air. "The Bladebreakers – kicking ass, all over the globe! Oh - wait," he said, his brow furrowing, "what about Kai? We don't even know where he is, that sourpuss has dropped right off the face of the earth for all we know."

"Don't worry about it Tyson, he'll have got a letter too, remember? And I'm sure Rei'll psyched for it, so he'll help us convince Kai - once we figure out where he's hiding!" said Max, ever the optimist.

"Yeahh, you're right Maxi. Besides," Tyson said, looking smug, "everyone _knows_ Kai loves me anyway. Underneath his cold steel bastard routine, he's really just a big ol' softy," he said, snickering. Then he had a lightbulb moment. "Oh, hey, Maxi, fancy a match? To get into the spirit of things?"

"You bet!" said Max, already removing his blade from its holder on his belt. "I gotta warn you though, Tyson, Draciel's just had a makeover - he's tougher then ever!"

"Pfft," said Tyson, preparing his blade as they trash-talked, "You're the one that needs to watch out, Max. Me 'n Dragoon aren't taking any prisoners today."

"Oh, hey guys, let me referee!" Cried Hilary, scooting over to position herself beside the two bladers.

"Oh, sure, Hil, if you think you can keep up," Tyson snarked.

"Ugh, would you just shut up and ready your launcher!" She snapped. The two boys got into position. Kenny sat down against the house and opened Dizzi, preparing to record the battle. No time like the present to help them improve their game for the upcoming tournament. "Okay, guys, ready?" Hilary started, stretching her hands out between the pair.

"Ready," they said.

"Okayy ~!" Hilary said, suddenly animated. She raised her arm, ready to count down, "Three, two, one - "

* * *

"- Hold it!"

Enrique ran towards the front door, and managed to catch his butler just in time. Of course, Enrique had not merely caught him just in time, he'd caused him to jump half out of his skin, almost have a heart attack and nearly drop the tea-set he was carrying in one foul-swoop. Poor man; Piddlesworth was getting too old for this.

"Sorry, Piddlesworth," the blonde teen chuckled with an apologetic smile, helping to steady the delicate china teapot. He nodded towards the door. "Don't worry, I've got this. Why don't you er, go and sit down or something?"

"Of course, Master Enrique," the butler nodded stiffly, and went on his way.

Arranging his hair into a perfectly handsome tousle, he practiced his best puppy-dog gaze once more, just in case. As soon as he was satisfied, he replaced it with his most charming grin and opened the door.

" _Enrique-pooh!"_

"Hi girls! I've been waiting all morning for you and, _wow_ – don't you look fantastic," he said with a lazy drawl.

"Oh, so nice of you to notice, Enrique ~"

"Yeah, we went through all this effort just for you ~!"

Enrique grinned. Gosh they were so cute. Bouncy curls, rosy cheeks, bright, sparkling eyes - excited to see him. "Well aren't I the luckiest guy in the world?"

"So, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Enrique-pooh, I really can't wait. I'm so, so excited! I've never been on a -"

"Actually, girls, just, slow down a second," he said, his face becoming solemn as he prepared to break the news to them. He cleared his throat. "You see, something's popped up out of the blue and, well, made our plans a little awkward..."

The sight of their faces falling nearly broke his heart.

"Oh, but Enrique-pooh, you _promised!"_

"Hey, ladies, look. I know I promised I'd take you out on my yacht this afternoon, but an old friend of mine has just dropped by and well, I wouldn't really be a gentleman if I just left him waiting around now, would I? Especially since he's traveled all this way."

Enrique tried to put on his most charming face as he tried to reason with the two girls in front of him. They were both pouting at him, and he couldn't help but notice how much cuter girls were when they were disappointed. He noticed that the little curly-headed brunette was looking particularly adorable today.

Damn Johnny and his surprise visit. Enrique was almost annoyed enough to just go out onto the lake and _make_ him wait. However, he knew how impatient Johnny could be and, to be honest, the tall, bulky red-head did frighten him a little sometimes.

"But, but what about us?"

"Yeah ~ it's not really gentlemanly of you to cancel your plans with us, either!"

"Hey, girls, don't be so sad - you know I'd rather be spending the afternoon with you! Look, I promise I'll make it up to you, okay? How about this, we'll go shopping down Via del Corso tomorrow, my treat," he hedged, looking hopeful.

"Hmm, I don't know, I was really looking forward to going out on the boat..." said the blonde wistfully.

"Me too," replied the brunette. "But… well, there was this one dress I saw last week–"

"Oh, the blue one? Marie, you should totally get that, it would look so nice on you!" said the blonde enthusiastically.

"You think so?"

"Yeah! It would totally go with your eyes!"

"Well, that's settled then - shopping tomorrow it is." Enrique threw an arm around each girl and began to escort them down the courtyard, in true gentleman-fashion. "We'll have to see if we can't find a nice little outfit for you too, Sophia. Maybe green, to go with _your_ eyes," he offered, receiving a cheerful chorus of _'_ _ahhh! Thanks, Enrique-pooh~~!'_ in return.

When Enrique had finished seeing the girls off to the gate, he returned to find Johnny in his private guest lounge. The Scottish teen was sprawled messily over one of the velvet couches with his messy boots resting on the coffee table. His Viennese rosewood, intricately hand carved coffee table. It was a rare known fact, but the one other thing Enrique had a weakness for, besides beautiful ladies, was expensive furniture. "Johnny, please get your feet off my ta-"

"You're pathetic, Enrique." Johnny stated bluntly, without even so much as a 'hello.' And he sure as hell didn't take his feet off the table.

Enrique blinked, a little taken aback by Johnny's sudden insult. "What?" he said, as he moved to take a seat opposite Johnny. He was picking at his nails with the corner of an envelope, and didn't even bother looking up as his Italian friend sat down.

"You know they only want you for your money, right?" he said.

Enrique's brow furrowed. "What? No they don't! What's to say they don't like me for my charming personality and boyish good-looks?" He said this with such seriousness that Johnny just had to laugh, which of course only made Enrique more disgruntled. "Well, whatever. I say you're just jealous because you don't even know how to _talk_ to girls."

Johnny then sobered up, and bristled. "What? I _do_ know how to talk to girls - I just choose not to because I don't need them hanging off my arms all the time. Plus I don't need the ego boost like you do."

"Pfft, please - the only girl you've ever known how to talk to without making a fool of yourself is your mother, and _she_ doesn't count. Besides, you're the one with the ego, not me."

"Hn, whatever." Johnny scowled and folded his arms, but obviously didn't have anything to retort at this point in time. Enrique smirked and performed a little victory dance in his head - it wasn't often he managed to win an argument with Johnny and not get punched for it.

"Anyway, what are you here for, Johnny? I'll have you know I postponed a date with two very beautiful ladies for this, so it better be good."

Johnny's eyes flashed in annoyance and Enrique decided not to push his crimson-headed friend any further. As far as he was aware, he wasn't scheduled for an appointment with Johnny's fist and he'd very much like to keep it that way. After a few seconds of heated glaring, Johnny held up the envelope he'd been toying with between two fingers for Enrique to see. "I presume you've received one of these?"

Enrique squinted at the envelope from across the coffee table, (which, by the way, Johnny still had his dirty feet resting on) and he recognised it as being similar to the one he'd received last week from the BBA. "Yes, I have. What about it?"

"Well, what d'you think?"

"About the tournament? Well, I _guess_ it's a nice idea and all." Enrique replied, shrugging. "Why?"

"It says that eight teams will be competing." Johnny said, seriously.

"Yeah, so?" Enrique asked, feeling like he was missing something. "Why are you so interested about it? We've bladed together as a team before with Robert and Oliver, but that was just a one off. Why would we want to enter this tournament when it's not even -"

"You know the Bladebreakers will be there," Johnny stated, interrupting him mid-sentence.

Enrique blinked in reply, now seriously feeling that he was missing the point. They had battled the Bladebreakers before the World Championships at Moscow in an all-or-nothing stand-off. In the end, the better _team_ won - and they, 'the Majestics' had lost. However, Enrique also knew that when they'd battled with them one-on-one, he, Johnny, Oliver and Robert walked all over their little team. So as far as he was concerned, there was no enmity between them. But now Johnny was confusing him by suggesting otherwise. "So?" He asked. "Do you want to battle them again or something?"

"Think about it, Enrique," Johnny said, leaning forward on his knees, his feet now off the coffee table. "They wiped the floor with us the last time we battled! It was humiliating! And everybody saw!

And here we are, given a golden opportunity to prove to them who the better bladers are, and all you can say is _so_!?"

Enrique leaned back, a little surprised at his Scottish friend's intensity. His fists were balled up and his lavender eyes were burning with anticipation. Johnny was always competitive, but in an arrogant and superior way. This time, though, Enrique thought he looked more like the aggressive underdog with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. Johnny's competitiveness was rolling off him in waves, and suddenly, Enrique found himself rather enjoying the prospect of battling the Bladebreakers again. "Well, now that you mention it, I would quite like to get back at Tyson for beating me that once. He's had over a year to improve since then, and it's been so long since I've battled someone worth my time," he added, thoughtfully.

"Exactly! And Kai's been long overdue a beating at the hands of me and Salamalyon." Johnny said forcefully. He was standing up now and pacing around the room, unable to sit still in his agitated state.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised you feel that way, Johnny. It was almost embarrassing how badly he beat you," Enrique snarked, but then flinched with a slight 'eep!' as Johnny's eyes flashed dangerously in his direction again.

At that moment Enrique's butler entered the room, and quite possibly saved him from a slight beating and the hands of a somewhat enraged Johnny. "Good afternoon Master Enrique, Master Jonathon," he began, offering the teens a small, stiff bow, "now that you are settled in I wonder if I might interest you in some refreshments?"

"Oh, thanks Piddlesworth, but I think we're okay in here," Enrique replied, leaning over the back the couch.

"Very well, Master Enrique." He then made to leave the room, but then returned, saying, "Also, may I remind you that your Math tutor will be arriving within the hour."

Johnny snickered cruelly as he flopped back down on the couch while Enrique groaned in response and melted further into the couch. "Yes, Piddlesworth. Thank you." The butler then bowed himself out of the room, leaving the two to resume their conversation.

"So," Enrique began, with a clear air of depression around him now that his Math session was unavoidable. If he was out on the lake with Marie and Sophia, he could have avoided it, but no, Johnny had to turn up and spoil his plans. "Seeing as we're both up to participating then, I suppose we'd better get a move on. Have you talked to Oliver recently?"

"Yeah, I dropped by on my way here actually," Johnny sniffed.

"Oh yeah, and what did he say? I'll bet he's not interested, since his restaurant's like, the biggest success Paris has ever seen." Enrique remembered the last time he'd seen his petite line-haired friend. He cooked up a meal so delicious, he thought he'd died and gone to food heaven.

"Yeah, that's exactly what he did say," Johnny huffed. But then he smirked, "the food _is_ amazing though. But don't tell him I said that."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Enrique said, lazily flicking his wrist around. "I think I'll go and see Olli next week or something... try out that summer-berry tartlet he was banging on about last month. And also er, talk about the tournament, of course," he added hastily scratching his head, remembering the issue at hand. Mmm, but those berries... "He'll be easy enough to persuade, I think, once we have Robert on board."

"Er, yeah, about that..."

Enrique sat up as the red-head began to fidget. "...What?"

"I think we might have a bit of a problem there," Johnny said, walking over to the window and gazing out across the courtyard. The previously jovial atmosphere in the room had been replaced by something colder, heavier, and Enrique didn't like it.

"Why?" the blonde asked. "Is he alright?"

"Well, not exactly..." The Scottish teen unfolded his arms, and looked Enrique in the eye. "His father died earlier this week."

"... What?!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Next chapter, next week. :3  
As always, reviews are loved and responded to (eventually!) so if you have anything to say, don't be shy. Besides that, I'll see you next week - take care, lovelies!

~ Indie


	3. Choices to Make

**A/N:** Early upload since I'm away this weekend. Happy almost weekend! :3

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Choices to Make**

"...What?" Enrique spluttered. "He... when?"

"On Tuesday, apparently," Johnny said, casting his stormy gaze back out of the window and towards the grounds. "And judging by your reaction, he hadn't told you either."

Enrique reeled a little at the news. For four days Robert had been dealing with this bereavement alone, apparently unable to tell even his closest friends? For some reason this fact shocked the blonde, making him feel as though he'd somehow failed as a friend. "When did you find out?" he asked slowly.

"Yesterday, when Oliver told me."

"And when did _he_ find out?" Enrique asked. He felt a somewhat like a whiny little child, asking so many questions like this, but some part of him needed to know.

"He was there," Johnny said shortly.

Enrique blinked.

"What?!" As childish as it seemed, Enrique felt a little betrayed. Sure, he felt for Robert's loss - of course he did - and he could kind of understand the lack of communication on the eagle-eyed teen's part but... Oliver? They told each other _everything._ "Why didn't he say anything?"

"Look," Johnny said, pushing himself off the wall and pacing around the room again. "That's not really what we should be worrying about. What's important now is Robert. He's not well."

Enrique felt his irritation slip off his face, replaced by concern. "Why, what's wrong with him. I mean, besides the obvious..."

Johnny shrugged his heavy shoulders. "He's just... not coping, I think. He's kind of withdrawn himself away. I couldn't even get him on the phone when I tried to call. Gustav wouldn't let me get any closer." Johnny sat back down opposite Enrique at this point and leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, the envelope between his hands, fidgeting. "All he'd say is that since Robert has inherited his father's estate and business, he was just too busy to talk. He also said that Robert needed time to deal with things 'in his own way'."

"Well, I guess I can understand that..." Enrique said slowly. After all, his father's death was still very recent. It must have come as quite a shock. And then to have so much responsibility falling on his shoulders... Enrique wasn't sure how he'd react if he were in Robert's shoes. He didn't even know anything about his father's business. His father was never really around long enough to tell him. But if he just suddenly disappeared altogether, then... well. He didn't really want to think about it.

"I don't agree," Johnny said shortly. "Fair enough, it's not an easy thing to deal with, but he's walling himself up inside his little castle, I can tell. And that's not good. And you know what he's like Enrique," the teen stressed, throwing a hand up in the air in frustration, before slouching back on the couch and folding his arms. "If he doesn't feel like he can talk to us now, then I can almost guarantee it won't get easier with time. The longer he leaves something, the less likely he is to get back to it. That's just the way he is."

Enrique sighed. Johnny was right, of course, but what could they do about it? You can't exactly just muscle in on someone's grief and tell them how to handle it. "Alright then, so what do you propose we do?"

"Simple. We convince him to join the tournament with us."

Enrique gaped, almost certain that his jaw had hit the exquisitely plush Persian rug that lay beneath the coffee table. He was sure it wasn't an attractive look at all, and he was secretly glad that none of the girls were in the room to witness his face. But, to be honest, he was almost too stunned to care. He'd entirely forgotten about the tournament in the wake of Johnny's bad news, and for him to bring it up now seemed... well, very insensitive actually.

Johnny really _was_ uncouth.

"Are you kidding me?" Enrique gasped, his voice about three octaves higher than normal.

Johnny's brow furrowed. "No," he stated.

Enrique laughed with disbelief at his friend's cluelessness. "Johnny, what on earth makes you think that idea is anything but a multi-track train-wreck waiting to happen?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Because one, it means that he stays connected with his friends; and two, because it'll give him something to focus on -"

"I think he's got plenty to focus on right now -"

" _B_ _esides_ his father's death and all the work that comes with it." Johnny finished, resolute. "Come on Enrique, he loves beyblading! The competition, the superiority – you've seen the way he struts around Olympia Stadium. If we don't do something soon, he's gonna bury himself away in all his grief and his work and his responsibility, and he'll lose himself in it. And then we'll lose him."

"Yeah... you're right," Enrique conceded. "But I still don't think this tournament is the right way to go about it. I mean, at the end of the day Johnny, it is just a game..."

"Exactly," Johnny said, triumphantly. "And we're lucky that it came around just in time. Robert's a damn workaholic. He needs to know that there's nothing wrong with taking some time off. That there's no reason that he still can't just blow off some steam and enjoy himself from time to time. And," he added, "if we get to kick a few Bladebreaker asses along the way, then more fun for us."

The blonde scowled accusingly. "You're not gonna leave until I agree, are you?"

"Nope."

Enrique groaned. "Oh, fine! What do you want me to do, then? You obviously need me for something, otherwise you would have just done it yourself, instead of wasting your time here."

Johnny smirked. "You're not as dumb as you look. I'm really proud of you, 'Rique," he sniggered.

"Shut up."

Johnny then sat up again and leaned his weight forward on his knees once more. He looked the blue-eyed teen in the eye seriously. "I want you to phone him."

Enrique blinked. "... Is that all?"

"Yeah," the red-head shrugged. "He's already brushed me off, but you're a different story entirely. You're annoying, persistent, insensitive -"

"Hey!"

"In all the right ways, of course," Johnny amended with a smirk. "So, you're going to call, and you're going to find a way to get through to Robert. Just... be your annoying old self." Enrique just sat there, thinking for a moment. Of course, Johnny didn't have the patience to just wait around, so he continued with an expectant "well?"

"Alright, alright, I'll do it... Hey, Piddlesworth!" Enrique called over his shoulder. Enrique began rehearsing how exactly he was going to persuade Robert to join them in the tournament while he waited for his butler to arrive. Soon enough, he came through the door and inquired what it was the young master required. "Hey, could you please get Robert on the phone for me, there's something Johnny and I need to ask him about."

"Of course, Master Enrique." Piddlesworth departed the room momentarily before returning with a leather-bound address book. From his sprawled out position on the couch, Johnny rolled his eyes and muttered something about Enrique being too idle to lift a finger as Piddlesworth dialed the Jurgen household telephone number for him. He then handed Enrique the telephone, and left the room. The dialing tone rang several times before it was picked up at the other end.

– _Good afternoon, Jurgen private-line. –_

"Hey, Gustav! It's me, Enrique."

– _Hello Young Master Enrique, how may I be of assistance? –_

"Well, I was wondering if I might speak to Robert, actually. There's something _really_ important I need to ask him." Johnny rolled his eyes as he listened in on Enrique's side of the conversation. He couldn't quite decide if Enrique was actually an idiot or just playing the part, but either way it was working for him.

– _I'm awfully sorry, Master Enrique, but Master Robert is very busy at the minute. Might I take a message? –_

"Not really, no. It's really very important you see, and I need to speak to Robert personally. I understand he's busy, Gustav, but if he won't speak to me now, I'll just keep ringing until he does," he said petulantly. Enrique could hear the sound of Gustav speaking rather apologetically in the background and, not two minutes later, there was a voice at the receiver again - this time, it was Robert.

– _What it is, Enrique? –_

Enrique winced slightly at the sound. Brief and clipped, in typical Robert style, but there was also something else. He sounded tired, and strained. He remembered the recent death of Robert's father, and how he now had the management of his whole estate and family business resting on his shoulders. Suddenly the idea of phoning up about a tournament seemed very insensitive. Especially since he'd used such a childish threat to get through to him. Curse Johnny for putting him in this situation in the first place. He should do his own dirty work. It was with much less determination that he said into the receiver, "Hey... Robert. How're you doing?"

There was silence.

"Look, I er, I know it's not really a good time, but… I've got a letter from the BBA and I was wondering if you'd gotten one too?"

More silence.

"About… er, about the tournament?"

– _...Is Jonathon with you? –_

Busted. "Umm, yeah, he's right here.."

– _Well, I shall tell you the same thing that Gustav told him. That I am sorry, but I am incredibly busy right now, and will be for some time. Therefore there is simply no way I can be a part of this. –_

Enrique suddenly felt very small, and very guilty for hassling Robert. "Yeah, sorry man. It's just, I thought, maybe –"

– _However, if you, Jonathon and Oliver wish to take part, then I have no objections. I may have been captain of our team, but that was merely under a one-off circumstance. If you find someone else you think good enough to enter the tournament with you in my stead, I will bear no resentment. –_

"Oh, well um, okay then. Thanks" he said, with a glance over to Johnny, "I guess we'll think about it."

– _Well. If there is nothing else, then, I shall say goodbye. –_

"Oh, Robert, wait!" A quick glance at Johnny told Enrique that he was not impressed with his performance. Enrique was torn between stepping up his game, and being sensitive to Robert's situation. The latter feeling won. "I.. I'm sorry to hear about your father. Listen, if there's anything I can do…" he trailed of awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling as though he should at least say something

– _...Thank you. Good luck in the tournament. –_

Then he hung up the receiver with a click.

"That was pathetic," Johnny said.

"Well, _sorry,_ but I don't seem to recall you having much success with him either. That wasn't easy, you know. He sounds really... tired."

"...So what did he say?"

"Just that he's too busy and can't do it," the blonde replied, looking pensive. "He also said that he doesn't mind if we enter, we'll just have to find someone else to take his place."

"Pfft, yeah, like who? Can you think of anyone, because I can't." Johnny scoffed.

Enrique thought hard for a while, acquiring that spaced out look that he always got whenever he thought too hard. "Well, we're going to have to think of someone. If you're serious about the tournament and we really can't convince Robert, then we'll at least have to have someone else to fall back on."

"I still think we should try again."

"What, you're suggesting I call back?" Enrique accused with a skeptical eyebrow, wiggling the phone around aggressively.

"No, of course not," Johnny said defensively, rolling his eyes. "I just don't think we should give up on him yet."

"Okay. But let's give him a break for a while. Couple of weeks, maybe..." the blonde murmured thoughtfully, absently curling a lock around his middle finger. "And then we'll go visit him, and take Oliver as well. We'll be much less easier to brush off if we're all stood on his ugly marble doorstep. Yeah?"

Johnny huffed, slouched back in his seat, and admitted defeat for now. "Fine," he said with folded arms.

"Great. But for the mean time, we should probably weigh up our other options. Any ideas?"

"Nope."

"How about that Vaughan girl from Wales -"

"Absolutely not!" Johnny declared, launching forwards, suddenly animated.

Enrique chuckled at his teammate's reaction. Eyes wide, hands balled into fists, Scottish accent almost slipping into place, as it always did when he lost his composure. "Why? What's wrong with her?"

Johnny cussed, shaking his head. "Just trust me on this one. That girl's off limits. She's absolutely bat-shit insane. She cannae join this team, never in a million years. No."

Enrique laughed. Okay, now this was sure to be interesting. There were about a dozen different scenarios running through his mind now to explain why Johnny seemed to be so... fearful of this girl. Enrique hadn't even gotten as far as opening his mouth to press further when Johnny glared at him.

"Drop it," Johnny warned.

Enrique's eyes creased with laughter, and he held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine, okay then. Okay, um, what about the champion from Spain?"

"Who... Fernandez? I don't know a lot about him..."

"Or maybe the guy from Holland? Dough... Dew, Don or something?"

"What, like the coffee?" Johnny sniggered. "Dreyer, I think his name is. Douwe van Dreyer. Nah, I've heard he fixes his rounds. Pays off his opponents or something."

"Does he really? That dirty cheat," Enrique replied with an air of scandal. He felt ever so slightly like a gossiping old woman. It wasn't something he'd admit to, but he'd looked up to the Dutch blader a little. His battle record was remarkable. Now he knew why.

"Yeah, and we don't want him ruining our name -"

"No of course not -"

"And we don't want just _anybody_ taking Robert's place, anyway. I'd rather it be someone we at least know..." Johnny said slowly.

The two proceeded to twiddle their thumbs in thought.

Well this was embarrassing, Enrique thought, that their pool of options would run dry so quickly. This wasn't nearly as easy as he thought it would be – especially since Johnny hadn't volunteered _any_ suggestions of his own. In truth, it was a tall order indeed to find a replacement for Robert - he was just too good of a player. And it was no secret that they had more friends outside of the beystadium than in it. That was just the nature of competition. In fact, besides the three young men who had called themselves Majestics in their battle against the Bladebreakers, Enrique didn't _have_ any other friends who beybladed.

"Hey," Enrique said suddenly, remembering something. "What about that girl you used to face off with in the British regionals? She was good."

"...Who, Rachel?"

"Yeah! That's the one -"

"- Nope." Johnny dismissed his idea without even a second thought. "She doesn't blade anymore."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you know, after what happened? I think I told you."

"Oh – yeah, that's right, I remember now. But... but that _was_ a while ago. She should be fine, right?" Enrique's voice had taken on that slightly whiny sound like it always did when he was trying to reason with someone. But faced with Johnny's sour, unhelpful face, whiny was the best he could manage. It seemed that somehow the tables had turned, and it was now Enrique who was trying to convince Johnny to compete.

"I dunno. Plus, she's probably terrible at it by now," Johnny replied with annoyance, "especially if she hasn't picked up a blade since then. Three years is a long time."

"You're right, three years _is_ a long time, so she _should_ be fine with it. And what other options do we have, anyway? I don't hear you coming forward with anything."

Johnny was about to bite back when Piddlesworth entered the room again. "Master Enrique, your Math tutor has arrived."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks Piddlesworth. Just give us a minute." He bowed stiffly and left the room.

"She won't do it, Enrique," Johnny continued. "I don't even know where she is," he muttered. "Last I heard she was prancing around Vienna or something with her stupid, poncy cam -"

"Look," Enrique said, standing up from the sofa and putting his hands on his hips, "do you or don't you want to battle in this tournament?"

"Yes, I do –"

"Well then we're going to need a fourth blader. I'll work on Oliver," he said, pointing to himself as he began to walk towards the window, "because I know him best. And you can work on Rachel, because, well, because I've never even met her. All you have to do is phone her and try."

Johnny looked at him as though he were going to refuse, just on sheer principle of _Enrique_ of all people giving him orders. But he didn't, he just folded his arms and looked away, saying, "Fine. But if it doesn't work –"

"Then we'll just have to think of someone else. But for now, we'll just have to work with what we've got. Okay?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Great!" said Enrique with a flourish. "Now, come over here and help me with this window," he said as he tried to budge it open.

Johnny, smirking as he realized what the blonde was up to, rolled his eyes and helped him push the window up. "No wonder you're so thick, ditching all your classes like this."

"Its street-smarts versus book-smarts my friend," replied Enrique, also smirking. "It's why I get all the ladies, and you - arghh, ouch – hey!" the blonde called out as Johnny shoved Enrique out of the way in response to his comment. The redhead climbed through the window and dropped neatly down into the grounds. Fortunately, they were only on the second floor.

Piddlesworth, hearing the sounds of their scuffle, came into the room and was met with the sight of Enrique half-way through the window, one leg outside and one inside. "Bfmprbh, Master Enrique! I really must protest!"

Immediately, Enrique dropped himself from the ledge and landed in a rather clumsy heap to the left of Johnny, who smirked at the Italian's incompetence. Piddlesworth dashed to the window, only to Johnny standing there looking up at him with his hands in his pockets, grinning, and shrugging somewhat apologetically. Behind him, Enrique had picked himself up and was now running towards the gates.

"Sorry Piddlesworth, gotta run!"

* * *

"Fucking – get out of the way."

Bryan cussed as he opened the door to his house and tripped over the mail lying on the ground. He unceremoniously swatted the brown paper parcel and letters off to the side with his boot before sparing a moment to glare in the direction of the living room. He then stalked up the stairs towards his bedroom, paying no more attention whatsoever to the man that lay sprawled out on the couch, or to the number of empty beer bottles that lay at his feet.

As soon as Bryan entered his room, he closed the door and fastened the chain lock that he'd fitted within a week of his moving in. If he was going to live with the bastard, he sure as hell wasn't going to have him encroach on his personal space. The less he had to see of his father, the better. _Father_ , he thought venomously, he's not even fit to be called a _man._

Without further ado, Bryan dropped his heavy rucksack onto the floor, kicked off his boots and threw himself onto the bed, opening his laptop. He then began searching the wifi lines for someone's internet he could leech off. Soon enough, he found that Mr. and Mrs. _please no more grindcore at 3am_ from across the street had an open line. Bryan smirked at the feeling that someone was trying to tell him something. He didn't even like grindcore if he was completely honest. It was too loud even for his taste, just a little too much like _noise_ than actual music. He only played it because it pissed his father off more than anything else he listened to. Particularly if it was played at three o'clock in the morning. He swiftly connected himself up to the wifi without any apology, and signed into messenger. But no one of interest was online, so he cast his mind upon other matters.

Thinking about his Math paper that was due in for Friday, Bryan turned his eyes to the rucksack on the floor, which, by the way is where pretty much everything else in Bryan's room happened to be kept – shoes, books, clothes, the lot. In fact, the only things that that _weren't_ situated in what _should_ have been a walking area was his laptop computer, which normally lay on his bad and which he'd paid for using a sum of money Mr. Dickenson gave him before he left him in America; his guitar, which he'd worked his ass off for the past year so he could buy; and his blade and launcher, which were resting on the shelf along with a pile of CD's and his beat-up stereo. The walls were plastered with posters of various rock and grunge bands, and the room smelt distinctly of smoke. It was a habit he'd picked up in the Abbey when he'd turned 13. As long as they won their matches and performed their military drills to perfection, Boris didn't give two shits about what the boys in his Abbey got up to in their spare time, and if that involved the older kids sneaking out and bringing in alcohol and cigarettes then so be it.

Dismissing the math paper for another time, Bryan got up off his bed and shuffled across his small room towards his stereo player. Sorting out the Foo Fighters album he'd borrowed from Kyle last week, he set it on play and turned the music up to a decent enough level. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Taking a cigarette out, he it and took a drag before depositing the lighter and the pack back into his pocket. He then opened his window wide and leaned out of it for a smoke.

"OI - _what'd'you think you're_ _fucking playing at_?!" Bryan turned around disinterestedly toward the muffled shouting behind his bedroom door. His only response was to narrow his eyes defiantly at the door and take another drag of his cigarette. The door was suddenly forced forward as the person behind it tried to open it – however, since Bryan had left the chain on the lock, it only opened a mere three inches, greatly angering the person behind it. He glared at Bryan from between the gap and threatened menacingly, "I swear to God, Bryan, you better turn that shit down before I –"

The specifics of his threat were drowned out as Bryan responded by turning the music _up_. Turning back around again to lean out of the window, he thoroughly ignored a final pounding on the door from the man who looked nothing like him. Bryan's father was tall, with muddy brown hair and dark, empty eyes. He, with his pale purple/grey hair and light grey eyes looked nothing like him – and for this he was truly grateful for. He didn't need a visual reminder of the bastard every time he saw his own reflection.

Bitterly, he snubbed out the stub of his cigarette and flicked out of the window. He stayed there staring outside for a few moments with an unreadable expression on his face, before reaching down to the draws under his bed and taking out a letter. He slumped down on to his bed and surveyed the letter for what must have been the twentieth time that week.

Bryan didn't know why, but the letter from the BBA had taken him completely by surprise. It wasn't because he hadn't seen his team mates since the World Championships – Tala's new-found parents were ridiculously understanding and generous, (a trait which Tala and Ian, who was somehow living with them too, never failed to exploit) and they'd even paid for Bryan to come over and visit him last Christmas. Spencer had come down from his Aunt's in St. Petersburg for a weekend and made their little group complete. During his time over there, he'd realized just how well the pair had it made. The couple's kindness was really rubbing off on Tala and Ian. The red-headed captain was still as arrogant and bossy as ever, always ready with a quick remark or snarky comment, but Bryan noticed it was always more in a joking manner than a cold one. Ian was an annoying little runt as always, but he, too, seemed lighter – happier. They both did.

His hesitation had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't want to blade, either. Fuck knows he'd jump at the chance to battle someone worth his time, but the truth was there just no one in his neighborhood good enough for him to even glance sideways at. And that wasn't him being cocky - it was just the truth. One didn't endure years of rigorous, back-breaking training at the hands of a power-crazy fucker just to be on par with the average teenage rookie. So as he sat down on his bed staring at the letter, Bryan tried to think about just what it was that was holding him back.

He was snapped out of his reverie at the sight of a tiny little arm snaking its way around the gap in his bedroom door, its chubby little fingers stretching up and reaching for the chain. Bryan quickly leapt up off his bed and turned his music down to background-level noise, before striding over to the door and letting the chain off the catch to let the small boy in.

He looked up at Bryan with big, round, olive coloured eyes and beamed at him. "Hey, Bryan!"

Bryan raised his eyebrows at the child's enthusiasm and said, "Hey, kid." He then shuffled the boy into the room and closed the door again, putting the chain on the catch once more.

He watched as his kid brother waded his way around the mess on his floor and hitched himself up on his bed to take a seat. Bryan flopped himself down on the bed next to him, and the child giggled as his elder brother's weight caused him to bounce on the bed. "So. Tyler," he said, roughly ruffling his ash-brown hair. "What's up?"

"Nothin'. What's up wiv' you?"

"Nothing," he replied, leaning back and folding his arms.

"Cool." Bryan smirked as he saw Tyler leaning back and folding his arms too.

After the Abbey was closed down and Bryan was told they'd found his father, and was going to have to live with it, he was furious. As far as he was concerned, the man was a waste of space. When he was growing up the man was always drunk, and always threatening he and his mother. When Bryan tried to get in the way and make his father stop bullying her, he'd hit him. And she just stood there.

He still remembers what she looks like, just. She had soft, cropped lilac hair, and sparkling blue eyes. Blue, not grey - Bryan wasn't sure where he got _his_ eyes from.

One day, she disappeared. He came back from school one day and all her clothes were gone, and she wasn't there. Then his father got even worse. He was always shouting at him and threatening him. Just the very sight of Bryan was enough to make the man fly into a rage. It was his fault, he said, that she left. The only thing he'd wanted was torn to pieces, and it was all his fault.

Bryan spent most of his childhood avoiding the stupid man. He hated him, because he was bigger than him. He was scary, and he always smelled of alcohol. He hated him because he made his mother leave. And he hated _her_ because she left. Bryan shrunk further and further into himself, never letting anyone in because they'd only hurt him too. If he didn't care about _them_ , then it wouldn't hurt if they didn't care about _him_ , either.

When he was eight years old, he ran away from home one night and found himself in front of the huge wooden doors of the Abbey. He wanted to _be_ somewhere else and _do_ something else other than dodge his father's careless words and fists. He wanted to be strong so that no one could hurt him anymore.

So he trained. And trained.

He became stronger. Ruthless. He met other boys at the Abbey who became his comrades, and he knew that they would fight for him as long as he would fight for them – they were in this together. He didn't know if he could call them his friends, but they weren't his enemies. And they weren't his father.

He didn't know if he agreed with Boris' plans for them or not. He knew that there was more to the Abbey than a mere orphanage turned beyblade academy, they all did. They were being trained to become soldiers. Soldiers that would keep order in Boris' New World. Soldiers that would terrorize all the families out there, regardless of whether they were happy or not.

Bryan didn't know if he really wanted to be one of these soldiers. He didn't know if he wanted to be the one tearing happy families apart. He knew what it was like to be scared. But Bryan also knew that soldiers are strong. Boris had given them a purpose and, as long as they didn't fail that purpose, nothing bad would happen to him, and he would become stronger.

But he did fail. They all did. And then he was separated from the young men he'd fought for and with, and sent away to live with the father he hated.

He'd moved to Michigan soon after Bryan ran away, apparently. He didn't even bother looking for him. He was from America originally, and only moved to Russia to be with his mother in the first place. The woman who left them both.

When Bryan arrived at the airport, there was no one there to greet him. He had to call a cab on his own, and he paid for it with the money Dickenson gave him. He would've been grateful to the old man, but it was _him_ who sent him there in the first place.

When he arrived at the house, he was surprised to see that his father had gotten himself a new woman. She was blonde and pretty, and had a little boy of no more than three bouncing on her hip. He looked just like her. It was she who showed him where he'd be sleeping, his father didn't even give him the time of day. But they seemed happy enough.

It didn't take long, though, before the arguments and threats became common place in the house. Bryan's very presence in the house was enough to rile the older man. Kate pitied him for the indifferent, and often aggressive way his father treated him, and often tried to speak in his defense. Bryan didn't need anyone to fight for him, he was bigger now, and strong enough to appreciate the gesture. Until she left, too.

It was some months after Bryan had moved in. The arguments, fist fights between the two men, and threats got increasingly worse, until the point where she just couldn't take it anymore. She'd threatened to leave and take Tyler, and even Bryan if he wanted, with her - a battle ground was no place for a child to grow up in. Bryan had never seen his bastard of a father so mad before. Tyler was _his_ son, and _nobody_ was fucking going to take him away.

Bryan came home from school that day to the sounds of shouting, screaming and crying, and he opened the front door to a scene that was all too familiar. That sorry excuse for a man was knocking his wife about, and she was desperately trying to defend little Tyler from the sight of it by using her own body as a shield. Just like his own mother tried, once.

Bryan saw red. He never could stand men who beat women. They were fragile and weak. Men should be protecting them, not raising their fists to them.

He pulled his father off her and the fight erupted into an all out brawl. For every punch his father gave he returned with equal measure. Until his father smashed a beer bottle into his face. Then he saw black.

He woke up the next day in the exact same place, covered with his own blood and sore all over. His father was sitting in the arm-chair with his head in his hands. Tyler was curled up in the corner of the room, sleeping, with tear-stained cheeks. Kate was gone.

Ever since that day, Bryan made it his personal mission to make sure that Tyler had someone to look out for him. This little boy would _not_ have the same upbringing that he suffered. The bastard was never outrightly abusive towards the little boy like he was with his first-born, but he was negligent. And so he had been caring for the child ever since.

Bryan was snapped swiftly out of his thoughts and brought to the present by the sensation of little hands tugging something from his own, bigger hands. He was absentmindedly tracing the scar that ran down from his left cheek to his jaw, courtesy of his father's beer bottle, and Tyler, taking advantage of his elder brother's distraction was attempting to hijack the letter that was in Bryan's hands – the letter that had been taking his attention away from him for the past couple of weeks.

"Hey," he said gruffly, "what're you trying to do?" He might've been acting the role of his caregiver for the past year, but Bryan still had little more the patience of a pea.

"I'm try'na read the letter!" Tyler whined.

"Pfft," Bryan scoffed, "Ty, you can't read yet." He rolled his eyes internally at himself. He was teasing a four year old. He needed to get a life.

"I can too!" Tyler replied, and shot his elder brother a very Bryan-worthy glare.

Bryan raised his eyebrows and decided to humour him. "Okay then," he said, handing him the letter, "go ahead."

He watched in slight amusement as his kid brother tried to make sense of all the letters on the page, his little face screwing up in concentration. He looked more like his father than Bryan did. His brown hair was the same, as was the shape of his eyes. But he had all of Kate's softness in his young face, and her kindness too. " … I can't do it," he muttered, giving up after a few moments and pouting. "What z'it say?"

Bryan smiled a rare and genuine smile as he took the letter back. "It's from the BBA. It's about beyblading." He explained briefly.

Tyler's eyes lit up at that. Bryan knew the kid loved blading, and he was always asking him to teach him. And he did. He brought him a junior beyblade set for Christmas, and even let him launch Falborg a couple of times. After he'd taken the bit out, of course. Releasing a bit-beast powered blade before you're ready is dangerous business. "Ree~eally?" he drawled. He was so American, Bryan thought. "What else does'it say?"

"Apparently there's a gonna be a tournament this summer. The letter's asking me if I want to go and fight in it with my team," he said.

"Wiv' your friends that you went to see at Christmus?" Tyler asked, with eyes that sparkled with such intensity for a four year old.

"Yeah, those guys."

Then came the explosion.

"Way coooool~~!" Tyler was bursting with excitement, bouncing up and down on the bed. Bryan swiftly closed and laptop and placed it on the floor, lest his kid brother's foot should go through the screen. "Hey Bry~, aw'you gonna go? Pleeease do it! Will it be on the tee-vee?"

"Urgh, I dunno, maybe. Shit, Tyler, sit down. Look," he said, grabbing the child by the shoulders and ceasing his bouncing, "if I go, it means you'll be left alone with dad for a while."

At these words, Tyler's face fell for just a moment, but then he brightened it up again, hardly missing a beat. But Bryan still caught it. "That's okay! I can look'after myself!" he said, beaming. " 'Nd you miss your friends too, dont'cha Bry." He said, suddenly getting serious. Bryan was once again taken aback by this kid's maturity. "It'snot nice being lonely."

If he was honest with himself, the reason Bryan was hesitating about this tournament is because he didn't want to leave his brother alone with their prick of a father. Physically, he knew Tyler would be fine. He was in no danger of abuse, but he couldn't be certain that he'd get all the attention he needed. Not that Bryan himself always managed this, but hell, at least he tried. And looking into the eyes of this little boy, that were full of admiration and expectation for _him_ , he found himself backing down. Tyler was looking at him like he was his hero, and Bryan just couldn't let him down.

He was going to have to make a couple of phone calls.

He looked at the little analogue clock on his stereo display. Just past four o'clock. Moscow was nine hours in front of Michigan, which meant that it was about one in the morning over there. Whatever, he was going to call anyway. Tala's parents did say he could call anytime.

"Oi, kid, get your shoes on," Bryan ordered, giving him a little shove off the bed. He started rummaging around his room for his wallet and keys. And another pack of fags.

"Whyy? Where we goin'?" Tyler asked, watching as his brother started picking up shirts off the floor, looked underneath them, scowled, then dumped it back before moving to the next one.

"Over to Kyle's – I need to use his pho –"

"Kyle's? Yessss! Cann I play on his Wiiii?!" he asked excitably.

"Err, sure yeah, whatever. Just hurry up." He then moved over to undo the chain as he remembered it was too high for him to reach.

After he found his wallet and keys, he left his room, locked it, and went downstairs where he found Tyler sitting on the bottom step struggling with his laces. He bent down quickly to help him, and then scooped him up to carry him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The pair set off down the sidewalk, bickering between themselves over who was going to kick whose ass at Mario Kart once they got to Kyle's.

* * *

 **A/N:** Are you still here? Yeah?

Cool. Well yeah, that was a bit of a long one. This is more or less the chapter length you can be expecting (sorry!). A few changes were made in this chapter, mostly I've tweaked dialogue to try and make it feel a but more natural. You may have noticed I've given Johnny a bit of an accent - it's here to stay. ;)

I also wanted to make Robert more consequential, in hindsight I felt as though I brushed him off a little, previously. Rest assured, he has his part to play and you will be seeing more of him in a few chapter's time. :3

Bryan is unchanged, naturally. :)

As always, let me know what you think!  
Peace and love,

~ Indie


	4. Faces New and Old

**Chapter Three: Faces New and Old**

Rei glanced down to the little head that was resting on his shoulder as it slept, and rolled his eyes. The flight from Hong Kong to Tokyo wasn't long at all – less than four hours – but somehow it seemed longer. He hadn't even had the chance to sit down properly when the small boy in the seat next to him recognised who he was and stared at him wide eyed. Of course, _that_ didn't last long, because soon enough the boy's mouth was wide open and issuing forth question after excited question, tripping over all his words in a constant, unending, jet-powered stream of noise. ("No waaaaay! You're Rei! Rei from the Bladebreakers! I can't believe I'm sitting next to you! Mom look it's Rei from the Bladebreakers! He's the world champ! You're the world champ aren't you! What are you doing on this plane? Where are you going? I saw you guys win the championship! You're so cool! Are you going to see Tyson? He's so cool! I'm going to be the world champ one day too! My name's Jack. Do you like apple juice? It's my favourite drink. Can I see your blade? What's it like having a bit-beast? I wish I had one. Hey look, I lost my first baby-tooth the other day! It didn't even hurt at all," and so on and so-forth.)

Now, Rei thought of himself as one of the more patient members of his team. In fact, he had great pride in his ability to detach himself from a stressful situation, take a step back, and react to things calmly and rationally. Unlike Tyson, who would just let his temper get the better of him and try to solve a problem by shouting at it; or Kai, who would just glare at it or stalk off with his trademark 'Hn'. But Rei couldn't lie, even this little kid had eventually managed to break through his walls of calm and collectedness, and piss him off.

He didn't say anything, of course. That would just be rude. And Rei wasn't rude. Besides, he didn't think the kid's mother would take too kindly to the teen snapping at her 'little Jackie.'

However, about an hour into the flight the novelty must have worn off, because little Jack eventually gave Rei space to breathe. And this meant space to think.

He couldn't wait to get back to Japan. He hadn't seen Tyson and the guys since the last World Championships, and even though he'd kept in touch with them through letters and, occasionally, email, it just wasn't the same as hanging out. He missed Max and Tyson's antics, Kenny's long words that nobody really understood, and Kai's silent but dependable strength in the corner of the room. He missed being a part of their group.

That isn't to say that he was lonely, because he definitely wasn't. He'd spent most of the past year and a half back in his home village in China with Mariah and Lee and the other guys in the White Tigers. And that in itself was a heap of fun. It was really nice, after traveling the world with the Bladebreakers, to just have some down time and relax with the friends that he grew up with.

He'd finally been able to work out his differences with Lee once and for all, and the two became thick as thieves once more, just like they had when they were children. Kevin was the annoying little thing that he'd always been, forever winding them up - but it was always in good jest. Gary was...well, he was Gary. And he was also surprisingly like Tyson, Rei thought with a smile, the way that everything paled into insignificance when food was around.

And Mariah…

He didn't know what to say about her. She was just the same as always; feisty and short-tempered, strong, but warm and... beautiful. She'd forgiven him for leaving China before, and the past year together had brought them closer than ever. He remembered when she'd said goodbye to him that morning at the airport in front of her team. 'I'll see you in the stadium, Rei,' she'd smirked wryly, her eyes sparkling with mirth, 'So you'd better train hard with your boys, because I'm not going easy on you this time.' He'd smirked right back at her and told her he wouldn't have it any other way.

And then he remembered her the night before, when she'd come to see him while he was packing. When she thought nobody was watching. She'd thrown her arms around his neck and held on tight. She didn't want him to go. She'd gotten so used to having him around, that even though she knew she'd see him again soon, she'd miss him. When he'd pulled away from her he saw that her deep golden eyes were shimmering and glossy. Before he'd known what he was doing, he was being drawn into her, closer, until…

Rei pulled himself out of the memory, blushing. He could still feel the tingle on his lips from where they met hers.

– _This is your Captain speaking. We have arrived at Narita Airport and have begun our descent. We ask that you please return to your seats and fasten your seat-belts. Upon landing, for your safety and the safety of those around you, we ask that you please remain seated until the aircraft has come to a complete stop. We hope you have had a pleasant flight, and thank you for choosing to fly with Japan Airlines. –_

Rei rolled his eyes at the last statement. Pleasant flight indeed, he thought, looking toward _little Jackie_ with an unimpressed expression. Nonetheless, he buckled his seatbelt, trying not to shift the kid too much, and turned his gaze outside the window, eager to land and be reunited with his team.

"Hey, Rei! Over here, man!"

Normally, Rei would have spared a moment to roll his eyes at his teammate's obnoxious shouting, but this time, he didn't. He just swiveled around on the spot and beamed when he saw a certain navy headed teen running towards him, dodging around the airport crowd, with blonde and brunette in tow.

"Hey, Tyson! Good to see you!" he said, clasping hands with the younger teen and shaking it with a grin that reached his eyes.

"Yeah, you too Rei - it sure has been a while."

"Tell me about it. Hey, Max!" he said, said as the blonde approached, and clasped hands with him, too.

"Heyyyy! Rei, it's so good to have you back! You've been gone too long, bro! I'm totally psyched up for this tournament, it's gonna be too cool blading with you again! Hey, have you –"

"Whoa, hey Max, calm down! ...How much sugar have you had today?"

"Not - not that much!" the blonde replied, looking affronted. "Why does everyone always say that?" he complained, his tone turning from defensive to whiny in two seconds flat.

"Because, Max, you start off your days with half a bag of sugar on your cereal, and never leave the house without about three packs of Mentos." Tyson jibed.

"I'm hurt, Tyson," Max replied in mock offense, folding his arms and pouting. "I think I know who I _won't_ be sharing those with anymore."

"No - Maxi! I take it back! Please!" the navy headed teen replied in panic. Without Max sharing those cinnamon flavoured candies with him, where else would he get his fix!?

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Kenny asked as he approached and saw Rei and Max laughing at Tyson, who, for some reason, was on his knees in front Max.

"Oh, hey Chief," said Rei, greeting brunette with a smile as he approached the trio. "Nothing much, really." Then his eyes traveled to the _other_ brunette who had arrived with him. "Oh, hello. You must be Hilary."

He'd heard Max mention her several times in his emails to him. As far as Rei remembered, she was a girl from Tyson's class at school; loud and bossy, but with a heart of gold. He said the two were actually really close friends, despite all their arguing. He also said that she'd been helping them train for the past year, which was awful nice of her since, apparently, she couldn't even blade.

"Oh! Yes, I am! Hilary Tachibana - pleased to meet you." She replied, blushing and offering Rei a small hand. He thought she looked a little flustered. Hm, perhaps she didn't think he'd know who she was.

"Nice to meet you too," he replied, shaking hands with her. "I'm Rei. Max told me all about you."

"Huh, really?" she said, with a confused glance at the blonde.

"Uh, well yeah, of course!" he said, scratching the back of his head and laughing a little awkwardly. "Rei likes to be kept in the loop and well, you're kinda like a part of the team now, Hil."

Hilary looked touched. "...Really?" she asked, with eyes as big as dish plates.

"Yeah Hil, of course you are," said Tyson, throwing an arm around her, making her blush. "You're like, our mascot or something. We wouldn't be complete without you!"

"Oh ha ha, Tyson," she snarked, wriggling free of his arm, now blush free and irritated. Stupid Tyson. "If anyone's the mascot of this team, it's _you_. You could dress up as a huge fat mouth, and we could call you 'Tyson, the giant walking mouth. Watch out, get too close and he'll eat you too.'"

Tyson raised an eyebrow at her pitiful comeback. "Wow Hilary, you're quiet today. You don't have to tone things to try and impress Rei, y'know, he already _has_ a girlfriend."

Rei blushed slightly at this, suddenly pulled into the memory of last night. A memory which he was unceremoniously pulled out of by Hilary's response.

"Ugh. Nice try Tyson, but it's not gonna work today. Unlike you, I don't need to scream at everything to get my point across," she said, narrowing her eyes at him dangerously.

"Well, I don't know, Hilary. You were screaming pretty loud last night," he remarked, leaning forward with his hands on his hips, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

That was the last straw for Hilary. Completely by-passing red, she blushed a furious purple, and Rei, Max and Kenny were left covering their ears as she screeched disbelievingly, "WHAT?! Ugh, TY-son, you are _such_ a _pig!_ I can't _believe_ you would say something like that!"

Tyson was snickering evilly as he tried to dodge Hilary, who was now chasing him around the group and trying to beat him. They were causing a scene. People were starting to gather round to watch the bickering pair's antics.

Rei turned around to Max and Kenny, raising an eyebrow. "Gee, you weren't kidding. Are they always like this?"

"Pretty much," Kenny said simply, looking distinctly unimpressed.

"Ahh, Ty, get down, you're gonna annoy the guards!" Max began to run over to the pair, waving his arms around. Tyson was now jumping from chair to chair around the nearby café, trying to stay out of Hilary's grasp. He almost lost his footing when one of the chairs topped out of balance, but then saved himself by jumping onto the little round table instead.

"Yes, Tyson. Why don't you just get down and take your beating like a man!" Hilary quipped sadistically, abandoning all modesty and still grasping for Tyson's feet. "Or is it that your _balls_ haven't dropped yet, so you're not a _real_ man?"

"T'chh, they _have_. I would've thought _you'd_ know that already, Hilary."

" _ARGH,_ _get down here, Tyson_!"

Rei thought that _now_ was probably about the time that Kai would cut in and get things back under control again, which then alerted him to their silent captain's absence. "Hey, Kenny, have you guys heard from Kai yet?"

He shook his head. "No, not really. Although, we _do_ know where he is now."

"Really, how'd you find that out?"

"Oh," said Kenny, adjusting his eyeglasses. "I got Dizzi to run an internet search. Apparently, he's going some posh boarding school in northern Tokyo, and aced the winter examinations. We found his name on the news paper, as well as a picture."

"Really, you can do that?" Rei asked. Creepy.

"Sure." Kenny opened his laptop up and immediately Dizzi brought the said web-page up.

' _No need to look so worried Rei! As you can see Kai's been taking care of himself, and he's as cheerful as ever!'_ Dizzi quipped.

Rei puzzled for a minute about how the bit-beast in the laptop could even _see_ him at all, but decided he'd better not ask. Instead, he settled for leaning into the screen to get a better look at the news page and, sure enough, right there in front of him was a picture of Kai. He was standing with two other boys who were dressed in similar shirts and blazers, and they were each holding up what looked like a certificate. Kai was looking into the camera disinterestedly, as if he had a million other things he'd rather be doing. Like jumping from high warehouse ceilings, or glaring Tyson into submission, Rei thought.

"Yep, that's Kai alright," he said, "the Bladebreaker's very own Mr. Sunshine."

"Anyway," Kenny said, getting to the point, "now that we know where he is, we were thinking of paying him a visit, since he's hardly likely to come to _us_ of his own free will. He's not exactly the type who pays ( _'or even appreciates!'_ Dizzi piped in) friendly passing visits." Rei nodded in agreement. "But we thought we'd wait until you got here first, Rei, before going to see him." Kenny finished with a smile, which Rei returned.

"Yeah, thanks Kenny." Rei was glad to be back and part of the team again. All they needed to do now was convince Kai to join them, and they'd be ready to take the world by storm again.

– _This is a passenger announcement. Could John Doe please make his way to departure Gate 34 B, the flight is nearing departure. That's John Doe to Gate 34 B. –_

The intercom then cut out, before coming back to life again with a decidedly unimpressed tone, saying:

– _And could the boy in the blue and red baseball cap please STOP jumping over the furniture in the café in the west wing arrivals. Thank you. –_

Tyson stared disbelievingly into the ceiling for a second, and Max used this opportunity to grab him by the arm and pull him off the table. Hilary was too busy apologising to a woman that she'd spilled coffee over just moments ago, her face crimson with mortification.

Rei decided he'd better wrap things up, otherwise they'd never leave. He was hungry, and a little tired, if he was honest. He still needed to collect his luggage. He relieved Max of the burden of watching Tyson, who then went to rescue Hilary.

He then tried to escort the group away from the café when suddenly he heard:

"Hey Rei! There you are! I didn't get to say goodbye to you on the plane!"

Oh no.

Slowly, gingerly, he turned around, and sure enough, there was little Jackie staring up at him triumphantly. Rei watched warily as the boys gaze drifted to the side of him and landed on Tyson. He braced himself for the explosion.

"WHOAA, NO WAY! You're Tyson, aren't you!? You're the world champ! You're so cool. My name's Jack. This is too cool! I can't believe I'm talking to Tyson! Hey, do you like apple juice? It's my favourite drink!"

Rei's eyes flicked over to the navy haired teen. Then he grinned.

You see, after his trauma on the plane, Rei was more keen than he'd like to admit to see his teammate's discomfort around little Jackie. Surely, after such a horrendous flight, the universe would allow him that small piece of entertainment. It seemed, however, that the universe had other plans, because when he looked at Tyson, he saw something completely different to what he'd been hoping.

"HEY! Yeah little man, you bet'cha I like apple juice! You know why, 'cause I'm the world-champ!"

"Oh man, this is too cool! Hey, mom check it out, this is the world champ! I'm gonna be the world champ too, some day!"

"Haha, oh you think so do you – well not if I can help it, buddy! You'll have to get through me first!" Tyson challenged.

"Yeah, me too – did you forget about me little man?" Max joined in, with way to much zeal.

"Aww, he's so cute!" Hilary crooned.

"Oh my god, Max! Max Tate! And pretty lady who I don't know! Yeah, this is too cool!" the child shouted, jumping on the spot with unrestrained excitement. "Are we gonna battle? Can we battle now? Hey, guys, wanna see my beyblade?!"

"Wanna see my Dragoon? This baby won the world cup! -"

"But not without my Draciel!"

Rei groaned. He exchanged a despairing look with the Chief and then groaned again, for good measure.

They were literally never going to leave the airport.

This team was full of idiots.

* * *

In front of a large computer monitor sat Michael. The teen was staring into it intensely with his brow furrowed, one hand propping up his chin while the other was drumming impatiently on the desktop. The face he pulled was one of pure concentration. But he couldn't concentrate. There were too many idiots in the room.

Also in the room was Emily. She was sat in one of the white love-seats with her laptop upon her knees, and from the rapid tip-tapping of her fingers, Michael guessed she was furiously typing up some research report or other for Judy who was coming over that afternoon. He was half-hoping that she couldn't concentrate too. You know, because of the idiot thing.

At the other side of the All-Starz home-room were Eddy and Steve. Steve was sprawled out on one of the longer couches, with a can of root beer in his hand and his plastered-leg propped up on a stool. He'd broken it not too long ago in a football match, and was _not_ happy about it. Eddy was standing not too far away. They were watching the NBA League game on a large plasma-screen TV, and they had the volume turned up to eleven. Along with the noise of the match's own in-game commentary, Michael could hear every word of Eddy and Steve's personal commentary, too.

Steve was loudly criticising the entire concept of basketball itself, arguing over how football was clearly the better sport, and that, if his leg wasn't broken in two places, he would show Eddy just _how_ superior it was.

Eddy, who was so intensely absorbed in the match, wasn't paying much attention to the green-haired male's griping at all. Instead, he was shouting at the screen as if he were a coach present at the game itself – telling the players which members to pass to, where to run with the ball, calling the opposition up when they fouled, and so on. He was standing up simply because there was too much adrenaline shooting through his veins for him so sit down and, every now and then, he would bounce that ever-present basketball around in excitement – whenever his team scored a hoop, for example.

There was just too much noise in the room, and Michael wasn't impressed. There was something very, _very_ important he was working on, and the loud duo's noise was _not_ helping him any. "Oi, guys! Would you mind keeping it down? I'm tryn'a work here!" he yelled agitatedly over his shoulder.

Not one to be bossed around or yelled at by anyone, even if that someone was his captain, Steve merely responded with a, "Hey, Eddy, did you hear something?"

Eddy, who in all likelihood did not actually hear a thing, replied with a perfectly innocent, "Huh, hear what?"

"Arghh, right! I've had it!"

Emily watched disinterestedly over her laptop screen as Michael stormed past her to the noisy pair, and made to grab for the remote. Eddy, suddenly realising what the pretty-boy captain was trying to do, dropped his ball and began to wrestle Michael for ownership of the remote. This was the semi-final match – if the LA Lakers won this, they'd be through to the finals! Right now the match was really close, so he couldn't afford to miss it, dammit!

"Michael, give it back! Don't be an ass, man!"

"I'm only trying to turn it down, Ed, you guys are too fucking loud!"

Steve, who was rather disappointed to be unable to join the scuffle, simply settled for prodding the wrestling pair with one of his crutches whenever they came within reach. They were flicking through the channels in their fight, so the game wasn't even on for him to watch anymore anyway. Not that he was interested. Basketball was lame.

Emily rolled her eyes from her spot on the love-seat. There was too much testosterone in this team, and how she'd even made it this far was beyond her.

Deciding that she wasn't going to be able to get much work done now that chaos had taken over the room, she set her laptop to the side and got up to look at what Michael was doing on the computer. It had to be something important if he was that riled up about being disturbed, she thought, but she couldn't quite think of what it could be. After all, the only one who ever got any real work done was her.

From across the room, Michael was suddenly disturbed by a great peal of laughter from the tiny red-head, followed with a snarky, "So _this_ is the research you've been working on, Michael?" She then surrendered to more giggles, and the other two males on the team turned around to look at their captain with amused expressions on their faces before walking over to the computer (Steve hobbling on his crutches), the basketball game temporarily forgotten.

"What is it?" Eddy asked with interest as he approached Emily. "Is he talking to a girlfriend or something?"

"Pftt, nah, Michael hasn't _got_ a girlfriend – that's why he dyed his hair. He probably thinks it'll help him pick up some chicks," Steve said, ignoring the protests of his captain in the background. "I'll bet he's just looking at porn or something while he's waiting for his new blonde-headed charm to kick in," he quipped, leaning down to take a look at the monitor.

Emily rolled her eyes at the football-enthusiast's vulgarity, and was about to say something about it when the two males, upon seeing the screen, erupted into very loud, very amused laughter.

"Mike," Steve eventually said between guffaws, "you're so pathetic, man."

Michael's only response was to fold his arms irritably as he walked over to the computer as well, protesting loudly. "Laugh all you want guys, but this is actually very serious business. It's all about the image of our team."

"No it's not," Emily said, rolling her eyes and snickering, "It's all about _your_ image as a cocky, attention-seeking big-head."

The computer monitor was proudly displaying the Google search engine, into which Michael was looking at guides on _'How to make an entrance they'll never forget.'_ Also within the tab menu were pages on motorcycle stunts, theatrical indoor explosions, dramatic background music and moving platforms.

"This tournament," Michael continued, ignoring the teasing of his team mates, "is going to be watched by _everybody_ , not just our American fans. And not just followers of the BBA, either. _If_ we make a grand entrance," he said, complete with enthusiastic hand gestures, "they'll all be stunned by how awesome we are, and will come to watch all of our matches! It's all about the entertainment factor!" This, of course, only gave way to more laughter at his expense.

Judy then chose this moment to walk in to the room, with an intrigued expression on her face and a clipboard in her arms. She took a moment to survey the laughing members of the team she was charged with, and raised an eyebrow before asking interestedly "And just what is it that's so funny?"

"Oh, hi Judy," Emily exclaimed, sobering up a little when she noticed her coach and mentor. "You really have to come and look at this – Michael's been doing some _research_ ," she explained, with a sly glance at the blonde captain.

"Oh?" she asked, making her way toward the computer screen. "What kind of research?"

"The important kind, apparently," Emily mocked.

Michael, realising he had no chance to inconspicuously wipe the screen before his coach reached them, just glared at the little ginger before shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, awaiting his coach's response.

Judy bent down slightly to take a look at the monitor, before standing back up again and greeting the blonde captain with an unimpressed look on her face. Stifling a sigh, she said, "Michael, you do realise that this tournament is _supposed_ to be a serious collaboration between two of the biggest associations in beyblading demonstrating how great the sport is, and _not_ just an opportunity for you to show off, right?"

Michael rolled his eyes and sighed while Eddy and Steve snickered at him under their breaths. "Yes, Coach Judy."

"Great. So, perhaps you can forget about researching motorcycling techniques, and use your time for something a little more constructive instead. Sharpening your beyblade techniques, for example. Are we clear?"

Another sigh. More snickers. "Yes, Coach."

"Good. Now, Emily," she said, turning to the only girl on the team, "How's that report going? Is the new metal alloy we're experimenting with for the weight disks working out for you all, or does it need some tweaking?"

"Oh, well, I've spent the afternoon drawing up graphs of the results from the tests we ran yesterday, and I found that while the new disk does greatly improve the stability of the blade, there is some compromise with speed. I think that if we…"

Eddy and Steve, sensing a very long and dull conversation ahead, made their way back over to the television, and resumed watching the match. The Lakers, Eddy found with much relief, were still winning the game. Michael soon followed them and sat down on the couch opposite Steve, sulking and muttering about how some people just didn't understand.

Not ten minutes had passed when Judy had finished her conversation with Emily and called them all to attention.

"Now, since Steve won't be blading in this tournament because his leg won't be sufficiently healed in time –"

"What?!" interrupted the green-haired blader disbelievingly, grabbing a crutch and getting to his feet awkwardly. "Coach, I can still blade –"

"T'chh, no you can't," said Michael, getting up off the couch and snatching away one of Steve's crutches. He watched with amusement as Steve wobbled slightly on the spot before falling backwards on the couch with an infuriated expression on his face. "See, you can't even stand, so how exactly are you going to kick-launch your beyblade?"

"Michael, give Steve his crutch back," Judy said sharply. Michael did so, but not without rolling his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. "Steve, Michael's right, you're in no position to blade, and this is _not_ up for negotiation," she said, her voice rising a little at the end as she saw Steve attempt to protest again. Now it was Michael's turn to snicker at the green-headed blader, and snicker he did. "So, as your coach, I have taken the liberty of finding you a suitable replacement. Steve is the powerhouse of this team, and I needed to make sure I found someone who was strong enough to fill that role."

Michael then watched with vague interest as Judy spoke into the mic on the headset she always wore, and told whoever was on the other end that they were 'ready for him' now. He didn't particularly care who this 'him' was as long as it was clear who was in charge. And by 'who,' Michael meant _himself_ , of course.

Two minutes later the door was opened, and in strode the replacement blader. He was a tall, broad young man with dark skin, unruly white hair tied messily behind his head, and a scowl on his face.

"Alright, team," said Judy, striding over to meet the blader as he came in, "I want you to meet Rick Anderson, who'll be filling in for Steve in the upcoming tournament." They all got up and went to greet the blader. "Rick, this is Emily, she's the brains of our team and collects data on all our opponents before we face them. She'll be your go-to person when you need a strategy or any beyblade improvements."

"Hello," Emily said a little stiffly, folding her arms. She didn't look too pleased with the bulky replacement blader. She was half hoping for a girl – the team had way too much testosterone in it as it was, without adding this ogre of a guy to it.

"This," Judy said, gesturing to the tall basketball player, "is Eddy. As a blader he specializes in speed and precision, and is a very reliable member of the team."

"Yo," Eddy said in greeting, spinning his basketball on his finger with his eyes still partially on the game.

"That's Steve," she said pointing to him, "and he's the member you're filling in for."

Steve offered him a nonchalant nod of the head, but nothing else besides – his hands were full with his crutches.

"And this is Michael. He's your Captain, and is the one in charge of training you all when I'm not around."

"Hey man, what up?" Michael said, extending a hand as greeting. A hand which was _not_ shaken and returned by the bigger male. Instead, he just folded his arms and turned towards Judy with a sneer.

"So, _these_ are the All-Starz, huh? I dunno... I was expecting somethin' a little more, well – more!"

"...What?!" Michael could not believe what he just heard and, by the sound of the protests from his other team members, neither could they. Just who did this ape think he was, strutting in here and insulting his team like that? "Just who do you think you are?" Michael growled, expressing his distaste clear as day. "Judy, where'd you find this dick?"

"Michael." Her tone was stern, calling him up on his language. " _Rick_ is a very experienced blader with an iron-strong offense, and will be a valuable addition to the team." Michael glared at the white-haired man, and at the smug expression that was plastered all over his face. "And Rick," Judy continued, ignoring the obvious hostility in the air, "the All-Starz are a world-class team, internationally recognised for their skill and expertise in the bey-stadium. If you want to blade in this tournament, you're going to have to learn to work with them."

There was a moment of silence in which each of the All-Starz eyed-up this _Rick_ with clear distaste, but they made no moves to air their opinions with Judy still in the room.

"Well, if there aren't any questions then I guess I'll wrap this up. I have a lot to be getting on with in the labs after reading Emily's report." She proceeded to flick though her clipboard, before continuing. "Now, it's been just over two weeks since we received the letter from Mr. Dickenson inviting us to take part in the tournament, which begins July 9th – a Saturday. June 25th is when we'll travel to Colorado, meet up with the other eight teams that are competing and take part in a two-week long training retreat that Mr Dickenson has organized. It's currently April 22nd, so that gives us just over two months to prepare ourselves before that, and get a head start in the game. This is a competition like any other and we will be battling in top-form as always, right team?"

"Yes Coach," was the general response, although not as enthusiastic as usual. Michael was still glaring at Rick with narrowed eyes. Two months to show this _Dick_ who's captain? No problem.

"Alright then. I'll leave you all alone now so you can...adjust to each other. We'll begin training tomorrow, so be ready." Judy then left the room, and closed the door behind her with a small click.

For a while, the room was silent, until:

"T'chh, _valuable addition to the team_ my ass, I've never even heard of you before," Michael said contemptuously.

"Funny that, I was just thinkin' the same thing myself," replied the white haired blader, eyeing the captain with clear disregard.

" _What_ did you say?" Michael growled, quickly loosing his patience with the cocky bastard.

"What, are you deaf as well as stupid? I ain't gonna bother repeatin' myself then, might just be a waste of my time."

"...I don't know who you think you are, _Dick_ ," Michael began, getting in the taller blader's face, "but here, we do things differently. _We've_ been spinning blades at a world-class level for years, _and_ we've got the titles to show for it. What've _you_ got?"

"Titles, trophies, don't make me laugh," Rick smirked. "They don't count for nothin' when you've only got them 'cause of all your high-tech gadgets, and your _data_ ," he spat, with a dirty look towards Emily.

"Michael!" Emily cried as her captain suddenly leapt towards the bigger blader, all patience lost, with his fists flying. He was pulled back by Eddy, however, before his fists even made contact. Steve loitered a little behind, cursing his broken leg, but making sure the white headed man could feel the full force of his hatred in his glare.

"He's not worth it, Mike," said Eddy, trying to pacify his captain, but still with evident contempt in his voice. "He's just taunting you, don't rise to it, man."

Rick laughed, and Michael shrugged his team mate off, regaining some of his composure but still fuming at the situation.

"Laugh all you want _Dick_ , but know this," he said quietly. " _I_ am the captain of this team, _I_ make the decisions around here, and if _you_ don't start showing some respect for me _and_ my team, I'll see to it that you're benched for the _whole fucking tournament_ , understand?" Rick lowered his eyes to meet the blonde captain's glare, and both stood their ground as they tried to stare each other out.

Eventually, Rick backed down with a smirk and said, "Pft, whatever. I don't have time for this." He then left the room, but not before uttering an "I'll see you ladies tomorrow."

"...I don't like that asshole," Michael stated after a few minutes heated glaring at the door that Rick never bothered closing in his departure.

"I don't think any of us do, Mike," said Eddy, as Steve began hobbling back over to the couch. His leg was getting sore after all the standing he'd been doing recently. "He needs to keep his attitude in check, or we're not gonna get anything done in the next two months."

"I'm going to try and talk to Judy about him, guys. I just don't think we can work with him," said Emily.

"No. Don't bother Emily. You heard her. He's a 'valuable addition to the team.' She's not gonna let him go," Michael replied, still seething.

"Well…I could just ask her to say something to him instead. It's worth a try. Eddy's right, Michael, we're not going to get anything done if all we do is butt heads with him for the next two months."

"Hm. I guess so."

"Well, I'll get going then," she said once she'd gotten the okay from her captain. "I should help her out with these new weight disks in the lab anyway." Emily took a few moments to gather up her laptop and notes, and then silently left the room.

"Hey, Eddy," Steve called from across the room, "the Lakers won the match."

"Huh, really!?" the taller blader replied, shooting off to the television in a flash, his spirits immediately lifted and the fight with Rick forgotten.

Michael rolled his eyes slightly at Eddy's celebrations behind him, and continued to glare at the door for a few seconds. Fucking Rick. No way was he going to have some idiot just waltz in to _his_ world and challenge _his_ authority like that.

Narrowing his eyes in determination, Michael made his way back over the computer, cleared the search bar, and typed in the words, _'How to keep an asshole in line.'_

* * *

 **A/N:** Good morning, I hope you're having a lovely weekend! Bit of a delayed update here, was out of the house all day and didn't get a chance to log in and do my thing. On a side note, Jurassic World is AWESOME, you should totally go and see it if you haven't yet.

Anyway, yeah, chapter's out, hope you enjoy it. I'm planning on releasing a mid-week update too so keep your eyes peeled for that.

~ Indie


	5. Reunions and First Impressions

**Chapter Four: Reunions and First Impressions**

Tala narrowed his startling blue eyes in concentration as he came up with a brilliant strategy and decided to put it to action. He scouted the windows of the watch tower, knowing that Ian was inside. Carefully, keeping low to the ground and out of sight, he laid down two clay-mores on either side of the gate leading into the compound. He then carefully traced his steps back to his hiding spot behind an abandoned jeep, and waited.

Tala knew the little purple headed sniper was inside the tower, waiting for him to make one wrong move and reveal himself. He also knew that he was an impatient little runt, and wouldn't wait around all day to shoot him out. As soon as Ian left the compound to search him out, he'd trigger the laser sensors on the clay-mores, and they would explode and riddle the runt with shrapnel. If _that_ didn't kill him, Tala was ready with his H &K MP5N sub-machine gun (his preferred weapon of choice) to blow the little midget's head off (other body parts optional) once he'd revealed his location.

It was the perfect plan.

And then the phone rang, disturbing the perfectly tense silence of the room.

"Ah, _shit_ ," Tala exclaimed as the shrill ringing startled him, making him press the jump button. The next thing he knew, he was dead.

"BOOM, headshot!" came the celebratory shout of Ian in the next room. Damn him and his amazing eye.

"Fuck off Ian, the telephone did all the work," Tala retaliated, calling over his shoulder into the midget's room.

"Ha, whatever, man!" he said as he came walking into Tala's bedroom room with a smug little grin plastered all over his face. "Don't take it so hard, Tal, at least you lasted longer than before! Although, that's not _really_ saying much," he added, snickering.

Tala threw his hands up into the air and collapsed backwards onto his bed with a groan. _This_ is why he hated playing Call of Duty with Ian, he _always_ won! "Ian, just get the phone, it's pissing me off."

He heard Ian snickering all the way into the hallway before picking up the phone and answering it with a cheerful, "Hell-lo?"

Tala rolled over and propped himself up onto his elbows, tucking his bangs behind his ear. He had since stopped styling his hair into those weird gelled-up horns Boris seemed to like so much, and now just let it hang loose around his chin. He was half sulking and half thinking of a new strategy – that is until he heard who Ian was speaking to.

"Hey, Bryan! What you doing man, you're late! … Huh, the window? Why would I have looked out the, ohhh, the snowstorm? Wow, yeah, it's pretty bad actually. … Don't lie Bryan, I know airport crowds are your favourite thing. … HAHA, _four hours_? I hope you haven't killed anyone yet, you're not allowed to do that without us. … Me? T'chh, whatever, you wouldn't kill me, you love me too much! … Nope! Tala's not in, so I guess you're just gonna have to stick with me instead."

Tala rolled his eyes and decided to rescue Bryan from the annoying little runt before he really did kill him. After snatching the phone away and easily shoving Ian to the side, he lifted the receiver to his ear, smirked, and said with a flourish, "Well hello there, Bryan. What seems to be the problem?"

– _Fucking airport delays, that's what. –_

"Oh dear," Tala said in mock concern. He could practically hear that Bryan's fists were clenched in frustration from the sound of his voice. He snickered. "So, where are you now then?"

– _Pulkovo airport. The captain had to take us down here 'cause it was too dangerous to fly any further inland, apparently. –_

Apparently's right, Tala thought as he glanced out the window towards the freak blizzard. They never had weather like this in mid-April. "That's St Petersburg, right? Why don't you just get a taxi down to Spencer's or something?"

– _Can't. Haven't got enough money, and my luggage is bound for Moscow anyway. –_

"Well, I guess you're gonna have to suck it up then. It's a good job my parents thought to check the flight schedules online, otherwise they'd _still_ be waiting for you at the airport."

– _Shit, yeah Tal, apologise to them for me would you? And tell them I'll ring again when I arrive in Moscow. –_

He smiled. Even though Bryan never said it, Tala knew how fond he was of his parents. And he didn't blame him. Bryan's dad was a dick, and _his_ parents were stupidly nice in comparison. It took him a while to get used to them at first, and they had many, _many_ arguments, but eventually Tala let down his icy barriers and allowed them to love him. Besides, he got sick of making his mother cry in the end – it just didn't feel right. Of course, that didn't mean he was getting soft. It just meant that he was shrugging off the iron-clad hold that Boris had over his life – over all their lives – and was letting himself _feel_ for once.

"Don't worry about it Bry," he said in response to the pale haired blader's request, "they don't mind, they're just worried about you having enough money to buy lunch and shit while you're waiting. My mom's been fussing over you all morning and you're not even here yet. So," he said, his tone of voice shifting from soft to snarky in two seconds flat, "you'd better get your ass over here quickly, 'cause it's starting to piss me off a little."

– _Pft, whatever you say, captain. –_ Bryan said, and Tala could hear the smirk in his team mate's voice. Then he hung up without so much as saying goodbye. Typical.

"Right you little runt," he said, twisting towards Ian who was sat on top of the stair-rail and listening to their conversation, "round two?"

"Ha, sure! Somebody's a glutton for punishment today," he said, jumping off the banister and all but skipping to his room.

"Fuck off, Ian, this round's all mine."

* * *

Glaring at the bustling crowd milling past him, Bryan roughly ended the call and shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. He didn't like looking at the thing – it reminded him too much of that old man's kindness that he was beginning to feel indebted to.

When Bryan got to Kyle's that Tuesday, the first thing he did was phone Tala. It was a good thing, he'd thought, that Tala was getting accustomed to late nights, because the phone only rang twice before he'd answered. Bryan would've felt a little bad if he'd woken up Mr. and Mrs. Ivanov at two in the morning. He'd told Tala that he'd blade in the tournament if the team was going, but that the only thing keeping him back was his brother. Tala replied that, yes, they were planning on going, and the only thing stopping _them_ was _him_. He suggested that Bryan phone Dickenson to see if he had any ideas about what to do with Tyler, so that's what he did.

Bryan had searched up the telephone number for the main American BBA headquarters, figuring he'd have more chance of reaching the old man that way than if he'd just phoned the smaller Michigan office. Once Bryan had said who he was and what he wanted, the secretary was surprisingly accommodating, and within ten minutes he was wired into Dickenson's office phone. After explaining (somewhat grudgingly) his concerns, Dickenson asked him that, if there were some way for Bryan to keep in contact with his brother, would he be more willing to go. Bryan replied that he would, and immediately the old man laughed and said, 'well, not to worry old chap, everything will be taken care of,' and hung up the phone.

Two days later, a parcel arrived for him at his father's house, and inside were two mobile phones, one for him and the other for Tyler (the kid was four!), each with sixteen-month contracts already paid for, and a plane ticket that would take him to Moscow that Saturday.

Bryan wasn't quite sure what to make of this, and he was more than a little taken aback by the old man's generosity (or stupidity, he hadn't decided which yet). Nevertheless, Bryan was looking forward to seeing his team and blading with them properly again, so he had spent the next two days teaching Tyler how to use the phone so they could keep in touch (he'd entered his number on the speed dial to make it easier for the little man).

Now it was Sunday, and Bryan had been traveling for at least 20 hours straight. After leaving the airport in Detroit, he'd had to stop over in Chicago for an hour, and then again in London for two. During the long flight to London, he'd probably slept for about two hours maximum. Now he was stuck in St. Petersburg because of a stupid blizzard.

He ran his fingers tiredly through the middle of his hair, which he had changed since leaving the abbey – Kyle's sister had done it for him. It now resembled a kind of shortish, layered, slightly grown out mohawk, and he was quite fond of it if he was honest. Much better than the straggly cut he used to flaunt. But, no matter how good he thought he looked, dammit he was tired, jet-lagged, grumpy and in dire need of a warm and comfortable bed. Or a very strong cup of coffee. And a cigarette.

Following that thought up, he pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning on, and went to search out a cafe. Before long, he found one and stared in utter dismay at the line that, for all intents and purposes, may well have stretched past the borders of Europe and back. He looked up at the bold green Starbucks sign and rolled his eyes. Fucking figures. Bryan weaved around the airport crowd anyway, and took a place at the back of the line, at least appreciative of the fact that this was probably the one place where he could ask for large Americano with three extra shots of espresso, no questions asked.

After paying for his caffeine fix, he cradled the large warm mug in his hands before raising his eyes to scout for a table. His gaze roamed over one with a young family and a baby screaming in its pram, over to another with an old couple sitting together quietly minding themselves, before finally coming to rest on an almost empty table at the far end. Sitting at it was an unassuming looking young girl with , probably no older than himself, reading a magazine.

Careful not to spill his coffee, he weaved around the tables and crowds once more before reaching her table, and asked in polite Russian:

" _Is this seat taken?"_

"Yes..." she replied distractedly, not taking her eyes off the magazine. "Um, no. Wait, sorry – what?" she asked, her voice rising at the end as she tore her eyes away from the article to look at Bryan with a slightly confused expression on her face.

English, he thought, internally rolling his eyes. British, if her accent was anything to go by. Suppressing a sigh, he tried again. "I said, is this seat taken?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly understanding, "no it isn't. Please, go ahead," she said, gesturing to the chair with a smile. She moved her mug and magazine back to make room for him and Bryan sat down, thankful to finally be able to rest his legs. He was just about to take a sip of his coffee when he was interrupted by the girl opening her mouth to speak. "It's a little crazy here today, isn't it?"

Bryan simply raised his eyebrow at her and nodded. "Yep." He then began to take another sip, but was interrupted again. She was leaning with an elbow on the table, propping up her head with a hand, and looking at him.

"So, we're in an airport. Where are you headed? Oh, I'm Rachel, by the way," she added with half a smile, "Rachel Hawker."

Bryan stared at her a little wearily. Of all the tables he had to pick, he _had_ to sit at one with a girl who apparently couldn't sit at a table with a stranger and _not_ make small talk. But he was too tired to start a fight, so he just decided to answer her questions and hope she'd tire of talking eventually. "Bryan," he offered in response. "I'm going to Moscow."

"Oh, that's nice," she said. Bryan wasn't too sure what was nice about it at all, but then she continued, "I'm going back home to London after a friend of mine called, or trying to anyway. I've spent the past few weeks traveling around St. Petersburg, taking photographs and writing up articles for a magazine." She spared a moment to gesture towards the few black bags she had at her feet, which Bryan assumed was photography equipment, before continuing, "You're so lucky to have been born here - Russia's a beautiful country."

"Hm," he said. Bryan had a lucky past indeed. He laughed a little at the unknown irony of her words, but didn't say anything else. Instead, he continued, smirking, "Probably not so pretty during freak blizzards, though."

"Well, I don't know, it's got a certain charm... maybe," she said dryly. Her face was the height of unimpressed as she gazed out of the large window behind him. Then she shrugged, returned to her magazine and was quiet once more, leaving Bryan in peace. Finally.

With nothing to do now that she'd stopped shooting the breeze with him, he began to find he was actually little bored after a few minutes of silence. So, he took to people-watching instead.

On the table next to him sat a young man with a laptop. He was wearing a suit that looked slightly too big for him, and he was frantically typing on the keyboard, looking as though he wanted to cry. Next to him sat a young couple, making good use of their time stuck in the airport by publicly displaying their affection for each other to anyone who cared to watch. Next to them was a _very_ attractive young lady; curvy, brunette, with glasses and reading a book. He thought she looked like the devious secretary type. Every now and then she shot disgruntled looks with cold grey eyes over to the entangled pair next to her. On second thought, she looked more prudish than anything else.

He then turned his eyes towards the girl he was sharing a table with. He _supposed_ she was pretty. She had long, messily curly dark brown hair that was tied in a careless bun on top of her head. She was pale, though not nearly as much as he. Beneath her left eye a thin, pearlescent scar marred her cheekbone, catching the light here and there as she shuffled in her chair and wiggled her feet. There was something in her face, whether it was in the line of her nose or the arch of her brow, or the curve of her lips, that Bryan thought made her look slightly haughty. And she had these dark greyish-olive coloured eyes that Bryan watched as they were flicking across the page, completely oblivious to the Russian blader's assessment of her.

Shifting in his seat, Bryan removed a cigarette from his pack, lit it and brought it to his mouth. God, he hadn't had a smoke in ages. Long hours of travel really took it out of a guy. He leaned back in his chair and spared a second to savour the moment.

"Smoking's bad for you, you know."

Bryan coughed at the unexpected interruption, who had lowered her magazine and was now looking at him again. "Is it now?" he asked, getting a little annoyed. First she disturbs him from drinking his coffee in peace, and now she interrupts him while he's having a smoke? No thank you. Passably good-looking or not, she was starting to piss him off.

"Yes. It is," she countered a little petulantly, wrinkling her nose with distaste. "It stinks too, clinging to your clothes like a –"

"– Rachel, right?" he interrupted, not bothering to wait for a reply. "I'll tell you what, how about this? Starting from now, I'll chain smoke and you can keep annoying me, and we'll see which one of us dies first," Bryan said, leaning forward and putting on a half-assed threatening glare.

Rachel's dark eyes widened for a second under the heat of his glare, but then they crinkled at the corners in amusement. She tried, and failed, to stifle what he could only imagine was some sort of retarded giggle-snigger-snort before she composed herself. Her eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her hairline as she assumed an annoying superior expression and said, "Ah, I see. You're one of _those,_ are you?"

Well that wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. "One of _what,_ " he grunted sharply, narrowing his cold, grey stare, his small reserve of patience evaporating just as easily as the smoke from his cigarette that he just couldn't sit back and enjoy in peace.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, smirking. She leaned back more comfortably in her chair and took the magazine along with her. "Nothing at all."

Bryan watched her as she made a grand show of ignoring him completely, flicking through the pages of her little magazine with almost deliberate disinterest.

It was a music magazine and Bryan noticed, with some interest, that it was written in Russian. That was odd, he thought, since she didn't seem to understand him before. Deciding, somewhat childishly, that if she wasn't going to leave him in peace, he wasn't going to leave _her_ in peace either, he reached over with his free hand, snatched the magazine away and waved it around. "This is written in Russian," he stated.

"And?" Rachel demanded sharply with narrowed eyes which were darting between his own pale grey ones and the magazine in his hand. Bryan smirked. Those haughty little eyebrows had now fallen back down to their regular height. Success. It seemed she was a little easier to piss off then he thought. He was beginning to think he might enjoy sitting at this table with her – the snow storm wasn't going to let up any time soon and without his guitar and only three cigarettes left, he needed a way to pass the time.

Deliberately carelessly blowing smoke in the girl's direction, he coolly replied, "You can't speak Russian."

"Yes, I can," she said sharply, holding out her hand as though the action itself would cause the magazine to just spontaneously return.

" _No, you can't,"_ Bryan argued, shifting to his mother tongue to test her, and slightly wondering why the hell he was even bothering. He held the magazine a little further away.

" _Yes, I think you'll find I can,"_ she replied, standing up and leaning over the table to snatch her magazine back, all the while trying to avoid his little cloud of smoke. She surprised him more than a little when she made the shift too, " _And what does it even mean to you if I can or can't, anyway?"_

Bryan was about to bite back when he heard a cell phone ringing. He was about to check his own mobile when Rachel dived down into one of her bags, and pulled out her own. She spared a moment to glare at him, before turning her back on him and answering.

"Hello? – Oh, Oliver! Salut, comment vas-tu?"

Bryan blinked, French too?

Of course, he himself was fluent in almost six languages (blading and military training were not the only disciplines taught at the abbey – the boys also had to be academic elites as well) but for some reason it always surprised him when he came across other people his own age who were multi-lingual too.

"Oui, je vais bien, je suis coincé en Russie. … Johnny? Oui. … The tournament?" she said, suddenly switching back to English. Bryan too, began to eavesdrop more attentively at the mention of a tournament. " _What_ tournament, Oliver? … No - yes, Johnny did phone me, but he didn't mention _anything_ about a tournament. He just said there was something he needed to talk to me about and could I come home. … Well, of course! He _knows_ that I quit years ago! I suppose he figured he wouldn't be able to convince me over the phone. … Who's dad? … Oh, no - no, that's awful. … Oliver, don't worry about it, you wouldn't have known. … Okay, I will. Yes, yes okay - Tell Johnny I'm really not pleased. … No, it's fine. Hey, would mind if I made a detour and stopped by your place on my way back? … Okay, great, I'll see you soon then. Take care, bye."

Throughout the phone call, Bryan had watched as the emotions played out on Rachel's face while she paced around her bags. First surprise, then confusion, followed by anger, impatience and sympathy, before finally coming to rest with mild annoyance.

Bryan placed the magazine back down on the table and watched with an arched eyebrow as his table partner rifled a little aggressively through the pockets in her bag to find a suitable home for the phone. Rachel, noticing she was being watched, leveled him with a glare and said caustically, _"what?"_

He smirked a little at her tone. "What was that?" he asked, gesturing towards the phone with his eyebrows and she took her seat opposite him again.

"Nothing that concerns you, I'm sure –"

"Something about a tournament?" he pressed.

"Once again, it's absolutely _none_ of of your concern -"

"What kind of tournament?"

"Oh my God, you are relentless -"

"Would it happen to be a beyblade tournament?"

Rachel blinked. "Why are _you_ so talkative all of a sudden?"

Bryan snorted. Deflection, what a typical female tactic. "Why are you changing the subject?"

"Because the subject has nothing to do with you!"

"That's not a valid reason."

Bryan leaned back and smirked as Rachel groaned irritably and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear.

"So, the tournament…" Bryan began, leaning forward and bringing up the subject again. He dutifully ignored the flash of annoyance in her eyes, "is it a beyblade event?"

"...Why?" she asked with guarded eyes.

"I'm competing as well," he said with a gratifying, nonchalant, self-satisfied shrug. The girl's left foot was twitching away with what Bryan hoped, with a stab of near vindictive pleasure, was a surge of agitated energy. He imagined this is what Tala felt like when he held the upper hand in discussions (which was almost always). No wonder he did it so often. It felt quite good. He rolled his tired shoulders out and grinned.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm very happy for you, Bryan, but –"

"And I think you should compete, too."

"Oh?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him again, "and why is that, exactly?"

"No reason. I was just thinking it'd be nice to beat you in the stadium like I have at every stage of this conversation."

Bryan didn't even have time to appreciate the expression on Rachel's face before she promptly snatched up the magazine and threw it at _his_ face, obscuring his view. Then, to further piss her off, he didn't even bother retaliating. Instead, he just calmly pulled the magazine off his face, straightened it out and began to read it himself, all the while smirking at her annoyance and her half-assed attempts to get it back.

He didn't know how long he was going to have to wait for the storm to abate, but hell, at least he wasn't without caffeine and entertainment.

* * *

Kai repressed a smirk as he rolled his eyes at the back of the classroom. He was leaning back in his chair with his arms folded and watching with some amusement as the kid at the front of the class was trying to work out an advanced level quadratic equation on the black board.

Trying, and failing miserably.

He didn't understand why some people found Math so difficult. Math was easy. Everything in Math had an answer – all you needed to do was figure out the pattern, and you would find the right solution every time. Physics was another very easy subject. Everything was governed by set rules and patterns, and so as long as you knew these there was never any wrong answer you could arrive at. Sure, you _could_ try and argue that a concrete block was no more dense than air, or that gravity only worked on objects that were blue, but you'd be wrong. Very wrong.

English Literature, on the other hand, was not one of Kai's favourite subjects, because it _didn't_ have any right or wrong answers. That isn't to say that he didn't do well in the subject, because he did. It simply meant that he had little respect for it. His Literature tutor had told them that correctness was a spectrum, and Kai thought this was incredibly stupid. For example, when they had studied Macbeth over the autumn, Kai had written about Lady Macbeth as a cold, manipulative, callous woman who cared only for her own ambition and nothing for the mental state of her husband. Another boy in his class had written about Shakespeare's unfair, misogynistic representation of her, and said that Lady Macbeth was actually a tragically misunderstood character with deep-rooted trauma in her past, whose _only_ care in the world was her husband. They had both received top marks.

Now, Kai didn't want to point out the obvious, but Lady Macbeth could not possibly be both of these things at once, and yet they were both 'right.' This is why Kai thought Literature was an idiotic subject with no academic worth whatsoever.

He was brought out of his musings when the bell rang shrilly, signaling the end of the period. Kai spared a moment to glance up and smirk at the kid who was very gratefully abandoning the equation on the board and packing up his things to leave. He then decided to follow suit, gathering his own things up and leaving the room.

He hadn't walked three steps down the corridor before someone was calling his name from behind.

"Hey! Hey Kai, wait up! Kai!" The teen stopped a little reluctantly but turned around anyhow, not recognising the voice. He watched as a dark blonde haired boy he recognised from his Economics class approached him and said, "Hey, Wyatt asked me to tell you there were some kids sneaking around the grounds earlier looking for you."

"Kids?" Kai replied a little confused. "What kids?"

"I dunno," answered the blonde, shrugging, "I didn't see. He just told me to tell you."

"Hn. And where are they now?"

"Oh, they're in your dorm - Wyatt let them in."

Kai started massaging his left temple. "He let them into my room." It was a statement, not a question. That Wyatt kid was always invading his privacy and pestering Kai to teach him some blading techniques, but this time he went a little too far. Kai would have to have words with the kid.

But not just because he'd let any old strangers into his room. No, Kai had an itching feeling about just who these 'kids' were.

"Um.. yeah." The blonde shuffled a little awkwardly from foot to foot and scratched the back of his head, sensing that Kai wasn't too happy with the situation. "Aaanyway, I've got a History class now, so.. bye."

Kai folded his arms and watched the blonde hurry off through narrowed eyes, before sighing, and making his out of the building and towards the third year dorms. He might as well get this out of the way now – he only had Literature next period, and he didn't really care for it anyway.

He knew it.

Kai was standing in the open doorway to his room with his hand still resting on the doorknob. In front of him – inside _his_ room and sprawled over _his_ bed – was Tyson. Kai had just opened the door and interrupted the navy headed blader's conversation with Wyatt, who was sitting backwards on Kai's computer chair, leaning forward on the backrest and listening attentively to whatever foolishness was dribbling out of his ex-team mate's mouth.

Tyson's eyes lit up as soon as Kai opened the door and he rolled over onto his front, saying, "Kai, there you are! D'you have any idea how long we've been wai –"

"– What are you doing in my room, Tyson."

"Hey! Now that's no way to greet your bestest buddy, Kai!" said Tyson, propping himself up onto his elbows and pretending to take offense.

Kai's only response was to issue his trademark glare, before turning to Wyatt and raising an expectant eyebrow.

Wyatt shrank a little under the weight of Kai's gaze, but put on a smile anyway, before answering a little excitedly, "Hello Kai! Umm, yeah, so I had a free period earlier and I found these guys just wandering around campus and... I recognised them as your old team mates! So I thought that they must be looking for you, Kai. So I went over and introduced myself, and told them that I was a friend of yours and that you were probably still in class, but that I could take them here and we could wait for you! And, well, here we are…" Wyatt ended a little meekly, seeing the unimpressed expression on his idol's face.

"Yeah! And we've spent the last like, hour talking about different beyblading techniques, haven't we Wyatt?"

"Yes! I mean, thanks so much Tyson. I've always admired Kai and the rest of your team, and maybe now that you've given me some tips I can enter some tournaments myself!"

Kai simply ran a tired hand through his hair, before saying, "Wyatt, look, would you just... leave?"

Wyatt blinked in response as Tyson piped up in the background about how Kai really should be nicer to his friends. Then, after recovering himself, Wyatt said, "Oh… sure. I mean, you probably just wanna catch up with your friends so, I.. I guess I'll be going!" Kai moved aside in the doorway slightly to let the brunette past. He turned around and waved, "Bye Tyson! I'll see you later K –"

Kai closed the door shut in Wyatt's face before the teen even had a chance to finish. Then he turned around and leaned his weight back against the door, and tried staring daggers into Tyson once again. He was just about to ask him where the others were, when he saw them from the corner of his eye. They were all on the other side of the room, and Kai supposed he just hadn't seen them behind the open door.

Rei was browsing through his bookshelf, and had just turned around and greeted him pleasantly; Max had moved over to the vacated chair and was now sitting cross-legged on it himself, waving at Kai sheepishly and no doubt resisting the urge to spin around in circles; Tyson had gone back to lounging backwards on his bed like a slob; Kenny was sat in the corner of the room typing away on Dizzi, and next to him sat a girl who Kai didn't recognize.

When he realized they were all just staring at him and waiting for him to say something, Kai decided to initiate the conversation – their silence was bothering him. So, turning his eyes back to the self-appointed mouth of the group, he said, "So, Tyson. Mind telling me what you're all doing here?" When all the navy haired teen did was continue gaping at him mindlessly in response, Kai began to get annoyed. More so than he was already. Rolling his eyes he said, "What, Tyson?"

"Dude, you look…different. Without those blue triangle thingies on your face, I mean," he said, pointing to his own cheeks in illustration.

Slightly resisting the urge to punch Tyson in the face, but mentally picturing the action with much pleasure, Kai merely folded his arms and closed his eyes, before repeating himself. "Why are you all _here._ "

"Well, that's easy, Kai!" Max piped up, who had now actually succumbed to spinning around on the chair, "We've come to ask if you'll be our captain again for the tournament, of course!"

"Yeah, as much as we hate to admit it, we do kinda need you on this team, buddy," Tyson said in agreement.

Now, this news came as no surprise to Kai – he knew all about the proposed tournament from the letter he received a fortnight ago. What he did _not_ expect was for them all to come to him so quickly and willingly. After all the incidents in Moscow, and how badly he'd treated them, and then secluding himself away for the past year and a half, he hadn't expected them to come to him at all, even if they did know where he was.

He supposed if he was sentimental, he would've been touched by their willingness to have him back on the team. But he wasn't. He just didn't understand.

Not that he would let his confusion show, of course. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Come on, Kai," appealed Rei from the side of the room, "the Bladebreakers aren't a team without you."

Kai opened his eyes again, and spared a moment to look over to the girl in the corner of the room, who was still staring at him slightly wide eyed. "And who are you?"

"Oh!" she squeaked, startled that he addressed her so directly and out of the blue. "I'm Hilary. Hilary Tachibana," she said with small, quick little bows. "It's...it's nice to meet you, Kai."

"Hn."

"Don't worry about her, Kai. She's just this annoying girl from my class, she likes to tag along. Can't get rid of her," Tyson said nonchalantly from the bed.

"What?!" Kai flinched a little internally as the girl shrieked. She was _loud_.

"Don't pay him any attention, Hil," Max chipped in from the chair. "Tyson's just messing, aren't you Ty?"

"Nope."

" _Ty_ -son!"

"Guys!" Max waved his arms around, and tried to stare each of them down in-between rotations. "Aaaanyway. Kai, Hilary _is_ a girl from Tyson's class. And she's been helping us train for the past year, actually."

"Oh, really. Well then I guess you don't need me after all."

"What? Dude, where did that come from?" Tyson sat up on the bed and stared disbelievingly at Kai.

"Yeah, Kai. You're our captain – of course we need you!" added Rei.

"Was, Rei. I _was_ your captain. But not anymore. I've retired from beyblading."

The room was met with an uncomfortable silence. Kenny had stopped typing away on Dizzi. Max's spinning on the chair had slowed to a stop. As Kai felt all eyes on him, he drew himself up to his full height, awaiting the protests that he knew were coming.

"What? Why!" Kai turned his eyes back to Tyson, who was still on his bed. His voice was forceful, and Kai ignored the glimmer of hurt he thought he saw in the teen's eyes. It was his decision, and Kai would not be made to feel guilty because of it. Tyson then stood up, and came to stand right in front of him. Kai noticed he'd grown a taller since they last spoke. "Don't tell me that we came all this way – _all of us_ – just for you shrug us off without so much as a reason!"

"Tyson... maybe –"

"No, Chief. Kai's been a jerk to us before, but he _always_ had a reason. So, what is it this time, Kai? Why won't you blade with us?"

"Because, Tyson, I'm already the World Champion," he said, narrowing his eyes him, and ignoring him when he tried to correct the 'I' to a 'we.' He knew he was being a jerk once again, but he didn't like the way Tyson was getting in his face. "I'm the best. I've beaten everyone. There isn't anyone else to battle, or anything else to prove."

"...You haven't beat me." Tyson said quietly after a few seconds.

Once more, the room was met with an uncomfortable silence. Kai surveyed the navy haired Japanese boy with interest. He was looking down at the floor, and his eyes were hidden by his messy navy bangs. Did he just say what Kai thought he said?

"What did you say?"

"You heard."

"Are you saying you're better than me?"

Tyson then lifted his head, and stared unflinchingly into his ex-captain's eyes. "I'm saying you like to think you're better, but you haven't even backed it up yet."

There was a few seconds of heated glaring before Kai backed off with a, "Fine." He unceremoniously shoved past Tyson and started rummaging through his draws. After a few seconds, he'd found what he was looking for. Turning around, he held out his Dranzer blade towards Tyson and said, "You and me. Outside. Now." Tyson narrowed his eyes in response and smirked in response, a familiar fire igniting in his dark brown eyes. "If you win – which you won't – I'll rejoin the team as your captain, and we'll go to the tournament. If I win – which I will – you leave me in peace."

Tyson stared at the ground for a few seconds with a slightly far away look on his face, before rummaging in his pocket for his blade. He then held it out to Kai in exactly the same manner, and said, with bold determination, "Bring it!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Mid-week update, as promised! :)

So Kai makes an appearance, as does Rachel. For those of you who remember her, she'd been tweaked and refined for the purposes of the story. For new readers - fear not, she is one of a small number of OC's who will not, in any way, eclipse our main cast and favourite bladers.

Next chapter will be out on Sunday night, UK time, as I will not be here this weekend. Other than that, I hope you're all having a good week!

~ Indie


	6. Just Like The Good Old Days

**Chapter Five: Just Like the Good Old Days**

Kai took his launching stance, standing a distance away from Tyson in the woods near their school. He let himself experience the familiar feel of his fingers on the rip cord, and the surge of anticipation and adrenaline before battle.

Rei was positioned between the two to oversee the match, and Max, Kenny and Hilary were seated a little way away, leaning against the trunk of a wide tree. "Were they always like this?" Hilary whispered to the two boys.

"Well, it depends what you mean by 'this.'" Max offered in response.

"I mean, like, hostile. I know Tyson's competitive, but Kai seems so...cold. Are you sure you're all good friends with him?"

"Kai is...complicated," said Kenny, insightfully. "He's independent, private, and very proud. He likes to do things his own way or not at all. During the last rounds of the championships in Moscow, we managed to get close enough to him for him to reveal the warmth that he keeps deep down (' _very deep!'_ Dizzi chimed) inside but…it seems over the last year and a half he's reconsidered that openness."

"Hmm," Hilary considered Kenny's words, but then Max chipped in before she had articulated anything else.

"Kai's a nice guy, really, once you get to know him. Sure, he can seem indifferent and even rude, but he _did_ look out for us all that time we were traveling around Europe, even though a lot of the time he just wandered off and left us. And he's dependable too. Even though he ditched us for the Demolition Boys in Moscow, he made things right in the end."

Hilary's face fell as she listened to Max. He left them alone in Europe, and ditched their team in the tournament? "Somehow Maxi, you're not really doing a good job of selling him."

Max laughed in response. "Really Hilary, he's a good guy – he even saved my life once in America! He might look cold on the outside, but you can always rely on him to do what's right. Just give him a chance."

Hilary stared back out to the center of the clearing in the woods, and took in the strong, proud form of this mysterious young man she knew nothing about. He was tall, and well defined, and in his face there was a maturity she didn't see in any of the other guys, not even Rei. But in his deep crimson eyes, she could see something else. It wasn't wisdom, or fear, or experience, or innocence, or arrogance – and yet it was all of these things. Kai's eyes were like mirrors, reflecting everything and revealing nothing. She wondered why.

She let her eyes trail slowly down his body until they reached the ground. There, she saw countless trails of what she was _sure_ were beyblade tracks. She wondered how many times Kai had stood here and bladed alone. She wondered if he missed his team. She wondered if he even realised.

"Alright guys, are you ready?" Rei said, initiating the match. Tyson nodded, and Kai narrowed his eyes in response. "Okay. Three - two - one –"

"Let it rip!"

Kai pulled back on his rip cord, and immediately went on the offensive. "Go Dranzer, attack!"

"Dragoon, counter it!"

The two beyblades circled one another in the center of the clearing three times, testing their bladers determination, before pulling back and then colliding with each other at top speed, blue and white, in a fierce battle for supremacy.

Kai had been avoiding this match. He didn't want to admit it, but that was his main reason for staying out of touch with his whole team.

He'd never bladed for his own enjoyment before. After he recovered his memories, he'd remembered that in his childhood he was just a tool of the Abbey, and that blading was something he'd learned as a means of fighting for a cause he didn't understand. When he left the Abbey, he'd bladed for his Grandfather's greed and his own bitterness. When he'd rejoined the Demolition Boys in Moscow, it was to take control of Black Dranzer as the final pawn in Boris' plans for world domination. When he'd fought with the Bladebreakers, it was to put an end to the tyranny the Abbey once and for all, and to right all of the wrongs he'd done to his team.

Kai had always bladed for something to _do_ , but now that it was all over and he had a world title to his name, there was nothing else _to_ do. He had already proved himself as the best over everyone.

...Or so he liked to think.

Kai cast his mind back to the confrontation in his room, and let himself hear the words he knew Tyson wanted to say, but didn't. The words that Kai could see written all over his face even now.

"I'm saying you like to think you're better, but you haven't even backed it up yet. _You say you're the World Champion, but you forget we earned that title as a team. You say you're the best, but you forget which one of us lost their round in the finals._ "

Kai gritted his teeth as he tried to keep his head in the game. It was true. Rei was shredded to pieces by Bryan and Tyson was trapped in a frozen wasteland, but they had both won their rounds. Kai had lost each of his matches with Spencer in a matter of minutes. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe that he was the weak link on the team. He couldn't even do the right thing and stand by them, instead he accepted Black Dranzer and betrayed them when he thought it would make him stronger, give him the perfection he'd always been striving for. And when he'd turned back and fought with the Bladebreakers to make things right, he couldn't even do that properly.

So he'd decided to quit while he was ahead.

But now here his team were, asking him to take up his position as their captain, fighting for him to stay with them, and he didn't understand why. They weren't making any sense – they should've been glad to see the back of him. But this was no Math equation or Physics paper. There was no right or wrong answer, no patterns or rules to follow, and Kai didn't know what to do.

He didn't know what he _wanted_ to do.

Kai was pulled out of his musings when he suddenly felt his blade get pushed violently backwards by Tyson's. "What's the matter, Kai?" Tyson smirked, "Gettin' a little rusty in your retirement?"

Oh, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to wipe that smug little grin right off of Tyson's face.

"Don't bet your game on it, Tyson. Dranzer!" Kai summoned his bit-beast, suddenly reinvigorated and focused on the game. Dranzer rose majestically out of Kai's blade, spreading her glorious wings and voicing out a melodious, awe-inspiring cry. Her body was cloaked in amber and ruby flames, and she swept around the clearing once before coming to rest behind her master.

Hilary's eyes grew to the size of dish plates when she saw Dranzer rise up. "So that's Kai's bit beast…"

"Yeah..." said Max, smiling. "Quite a sight, isn't she?"

"Oh, so you're going all out then after all, huh? Well, Dragoon and I ain't gonna' refuse an invitation to party, especially when there's chicken on the menu – Dragoon!" The dragon rose up out of Tyson's blade and wasted no time in flexing its strong and wiry body. He let out a piercing cry, and winds whipped about him as he moved. He took up his position behind Tyson and his eyes were fixed on the opponent.

"You know, Tyson, you should quit the trash talk while you're ahead, it doesn't do you any favours."

"Wow Kai, you're talkative today! You must be happy to see me after all."

"Hah! Don't flatter yourself. Dranzer, Flame Saber!" Kai's beyblade began to glow a violent red, and flames were summoned up around it as Kai prepared his attack.

"Nice try, Kai, but I've seen that one before. Dragoon, Vanishing Attack!" Dragoon let out an almighty roar, and immediately Tyson's beyblade began to spin so fast that within a matter of seconds, it had disappeared and evaded Kai's attack. It then reappeared moments later, right behind Kai's blade, poised to attack.

"Dranzer, evade!"

Tyson's blade shot out towards Kai's, who had just narrowly managed to avoid it. The attack still made contact, however, and knocked Kai's Dranzer just out of balance. He watched as it wobbled slightly on the spot.

Damn, Tyson had gotten good over the past year. His turns were sharper, his reflexes were quicker, and his offense was much more persistent. Kai began to wonder just what the small girl was doing with him in their training. He'd have to find out somehow.

But for now, he had to concentrate on the game. Even though Kai had said he was retiring, that wasn't to say he hadn't picked up his blade since then. And there was a little something he'd been working on which he needed a test subject for.

"Dranzer, attack now! Volcano Emission!"

"Wh - what?" Tyson stuttered, not recognising the name of his attack. "Dragoon, counter it with Phantom Hurricane Attack!"

The two beyblades and bit beasts whipped up their own elements around them, fire and air, and dove in for the final attack. They collided with brute force, each vying for the top position and never backing down an inch. Sparks flew as the two blades kept up the assault, each grinding and trying to force the other to a halt. Suddenly, the battle was enveloped in a huge light. The bladers were pushed back by the enormous winds, and embers whipped around in the air.

Then, all was still.

After the dust had settled, Tyson and Kai, both panting slightly from the effort of their final attacks, looked to the ground to see the final result. There, lying motionless on the ground, was Tyson's blade.

Not two feet away was Kai's Dranzer, also motionless.

"It... it's a tie!" Rei declared.

"What? Aw man! But I gave that last attack my all!"

There was a few moments of silence as both bladers took in the result of the match. A tie. He still hadn't beaten Tyson. But he hadn't lost, either. Kai stepped forward slowly and picked up his motionless blade. His Dranzer wasn't too badly damaged from the fight, nothing the Chief couldn't fix. Wait, Kenny wouldn't be fixing anything at all, right? He wasn't going back with them, was he?

"So…dude, what now?" Kai lifted his eyes towards Tyson, who was now standing just a few feet away and cradling his blade in his hands. Kai spared a glance towards Dragoon, and he was surprised to see that it actually fared a little worse off than his own.

 _What now._

Well, that was the question. Kai tore his eyes away from Tyson and stared off into the distance as he thought about the match. It had been a while since he'd fought with the teen, and he didn't want to admit that he'd relished a little in the familiar feeling. Dishing out the trash talk and fighting to prove who was the better blader – it had been a while since he'd done that. He remembered the rush of adrenaline he felt as he called out Dranzer, and the slight trepidation he always felt each time his blade made contact with the opponent's. That split second of expectation, of waiting to see if the attack would land, or backfire. Kai remembered the feeling of having to think on his feet, of changing his strategy and pulling out all the shots when he was met with the unexpected. The moments of silence after a battle, waiting to see the result.

But that wasn't what he missed. If Kai was honest, he had missed being surrounded by the team. The sound of their jokes, their banter, their foolish arguments and their complaints about his training schedule. As much as their immaturity, and their noise, and their slacking off had annoyed him when they were last together, they had always tried to involve him. Always tried to make him feel like he was a part of the group, no matter how much distance he tried to keep. And now here they were, doing the same thing all over again.

He _was_ a little touched. But he sure as hell wasn't going to let that show.

Kai closed his eyes and smirked his trademark smirk, before folding his arms and turning on his heel, stalking off into the distance.

"Hey! Kai, where you going, man?"

Kai stopped several feet away from his navy-headed team mate and spoke without turning around. "It seems I have a bit of packing to do," he announced. He then looked back over his shoulder at Tyson, and stared him dead in the eye with steely determination. "So you better enjoy the rest of this afternoon, Tyson. Because training begins tomorrow." He then whipped around on his heel, and stalked off.

Tyson blinked in response, before punching the air with his fist and shouting, "Oh yeah, alright! The Bladebreakers are back in action!"

Kai continued to walk away from his team, shoving his hands into his pockets and smirking a little as he listened to the sounds of his team's cheers fade into the distance.

Tyson spared a moment to glance around him in awe, before wondering just exactly how he managed to get into this situation. Not that he was complaining – hell no.

It _looked_ like he was in a Harem. He was lounging back on some rich, purple silky sheets, in the most luxuriously grand four-poster bed he had ever seen. The frame was made of rich ebony wood and gilded with antique gold, and into each post was carved intricate designs of interlocking dragons. His head was resting back on some big, firm golden pillows and there was a pleasantly cool breeze floating through the room. But that wasn't all.

Because Tyson was also surrounded by girls.

Blondes, red-heads, brunettes, some with blue hair like him, some with pink or violet. They were all drop dead gorgeous and they were all looking at him with teasingly shy smiles on their faces. Two of the girls nearest him were perched daintily on the edge of his bed, one on either side, and they had in their hands huge platters of oh-so-delectable looking treats. Another two a little further off were fanning him with some large white-peacock feathered fans.

Okay, so Tyson accepted that he _must_ be in a Harem – all these girls were dressed in red, pink, and purple skimpy little outfits, just like the ones you would see in Middle Eastern Palaces in the olden times. He resisted the urge to drool a little.

" _...Tyson._ "

Tyson turned his head towards the end of the bed in response, and there he saw Hilary. He was about to ask her what she was doing here and tell her that it wasn't what it looked like, but the words died in his mouth when he saw her. Only Tyson had the vague feeling as he looked at her, that he had never _really_ _seen_ her until now.

She was standing at the end of his bed with one arm wrapped lazily around the bedpost, leaning her head against it. She was smiling at him mischievously, and her ruby eyes were twinkling. Her hair was styled differently, he noticed. Instead of flicking out messily, it was sleek and straightened up, tied back lazily with all sorts of delicate golden ornaments hanging in it. Around her neck and wrists were countless golden chains which jangled slightly. And her _body_. She was wearing a sleek, pale gold chiffon wrap around her chest. Her midriff was completely bare, and around her hips she was wearing similar gold coloured pants, around which was wrapped a teasingly see through light gold wrap, which only covered as far down as her mid-thigh anyway.

Before Tyson could even articulate anything, Hilary was suddenly on her hands and knees on the end of the bed, crawling slowly towards him. "Hi - Hilary, what're you doing –"

She placed a finger on his lips to silence him, and smiled seductively before saying, _"It's time for practice, Tyson…"_

Tyson frowned slightly at the sound of her voice, it echoed around the room and sounded strangely distant. But then all thoughts were pushed out of his mind as Hilary pushed her lips on to his, forceful and eager. Tyson went rigid for a split second in shock. _What was she doing?_

Oh screw it, he thought.

Tyson abandoned all modesty, pulled Hilary more firmly onto his lap and kissed her right back, even more forceful and eager than she. Her lips were warm and soft, and she was trailing her hands teasingly down his chest. Tyson brushed his tongue against her lips and felt a rush of male pride when she opened her mouth to him. _What was he doing?_ He didn't know. All he knew was that it felt good. He was a hot-blooded male after all, and who in their right mind would refuse the advances of a hot girl, anyway? And boy, was Hilary hot today.

Actually, Tyson thought as he trailed his fingers down her back, she _was_ hot. His body was tingling with heat from where her hands were touching him all over, and his lips were burning from where they met hers.

Hell, his mouth was on _fire!_

Tyson opened his eyes in confusion and was horrified to see the room was up in flames around him. He could hear the crackling of the fire, and feel the embers licking at every inch of his body. To the side, he saw the other harem girls standing in the midst of the blaze. Then, in unison, they all turned their eyes to him and opened up their mouths and out of them flew tongues of flame which morphed into phoenixes. The birds of fire flew about the room in a circle and only added to the rising inferno.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

When Tyson looked in front of him to see Hilary, he realised it wasn't her that he was kissing at all.

It was Kai.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

Tyson sat bolt upright in his bed, panting and darting his eyes around the room in panic. He then screamed once more, just for good measure.

It wasn't until he heard stifled laughter from the doorway that he came to his senses. Looking around, he realised that he was still in his bedroom in the dojo. He was all tangled up in his pale blue bed sheets, and his hair was a mess. Looking up, he saw Kai standing over him to the left of his bed, with his arms folded and a cruel smirk on his face. To his right he saw Hilary, who was also grinning cruelly and hiding something behind her back. Behind them, standing in the doorway he saw Max and Rei, still in their pajamas. Max was covering his mouth with his hands trying to stifle his laughter, and Rei had just folded his arms and was laughing quite openly.

Tyson's mouth was still on fire.

Then he put two and two together. _Chillies._

"Dude!" he shouted, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Kai from his bed, "What the hell, man!?"

Hilary let out a tinker of a laugh. "Should I cool him down now, Kai?"

Kai raised his eyebrows and smirked a little wider in response. "Go ahead."

Tyson's eyes darted between the pair in confusion, wondering what the hell was going on. When did _they_ become so chummy? And what did Hilary mean by _cooling him down?_ Was she going to bring him a glass of milk? He sure hoped so, because he really didn't want to suffer third-degree burns to his mouth because of Kai's sadistic wake-up calls. Stupid Kai – he hadn't even been back for one day yet and he was already making his life a misery! And the others were no better either, joining in with Kai's torture and laughing at his misery. He was seriously beginning to reconsider letting them all stay at his dojo during the run up to the tournament.

However, all of Tyson's mental complaining was brought to a halt when Hilary revealed what she was hiding behind her back. It looked suspiciously like a bucket, and the noise it made when she brought it forward sounded suspiciously like the slopping of ice-water. Tyson was certain he didn't like the look on her face one bit.

"Hi – Hilary… what are you doing?" Tyson asked weakly. Hilary didn't bother answering him though. Instead, she just smiled at him innocently and threw the bucketful of ice cold water over him with one graceful sweep of her arms.

Tyson's screams were drowned out by the sound of the ice-water splashing all over him, and Max and Rei's laughter. Even Kai let out the tiniest snicker. Tyson sat on his bed, shivering pathetically and trying warm himself up by rubbing his arms. His pajamas were soaked through and his usually wild navy hair was now plastered to his face. "Ya know, K-Kai," he said though chattering teeth, trying to glare hatefully at him, but failing miserably, "I'm be-beginning to re-reconsider my invita-tation. You can g-go back to your p-posh little school if y-you want t-to, and w-we'll find a new ca-captain." Kai raised an amused eyebrow in response, but said nothing. Then Tyson, sniffing the air, said, "Wh-what's that sm-smell?"

"Five am," Kai replied cooly. He then spun around on his heel and began to leave the room, "You better get up and get your breakfast, Tyson, because training begins in half an hour."

Tyson's expression shattered amusingly, and he whined, "B-but Kai! I've g-got school t-today!" The only reply he received was Hilary's tinkering laugh from the side of the room. He twisted around to face her, and narrowed his eyes at her venomously. "And what are _y-you_ laughing at, you little w-witch?" His fury was marred somewhat by his pathetic shivering.

"You, obviously," she replied, rolling her eyes at him.

"Yeah? Well, th-this is the last time I let y-you sleep over here!"

"Whatever Tyson, just get dressed. I'll make you guys some breakfast." She said, addressing them all. And then she left the room to the sound of Tyson mumbling something about 'ungrateful' and 'devious' and 'ganging up on him like that.'

"Man, Tyson…" Max said as he eased into the room and sat on the only corner of Tyson's bed that wasn't wet. His slightly puffy eyes and tousled hair were the only indication that the blonde had only recently woken up, because he was just as cheery as ever. "You look traumatized."

"Yeah Ty, you look really out of it…" Rei smirked, leaning against the door frame, "were you having a bad dream?"

"No!" Tyson shouted defensively, "I wasn't having any dream! Who said I was dreaming?!"

"Wow, you don't sound defensive at all." Rei mocked from the doorframe.

"Yeah, now I _really_ wanna know what he was dreaming." Max chirped. _What was this_ , the navy-headed teen thought, ' _let's all bully Tyson day?'_

"Arghh, get outta my room, guys!" Tyson growled in frustration and lobbed a soaking wet pillow at his blonde haired best friend. However, Max ducked the poor throw and the pillow simply landed at Rei's feet pathetically with a wet 'plop.'

The teasing duo left the room snickering, and Tyson was left alone on his wet bed sheets wondering what the hell kind of pizza he ate last night that gave him such horrible, horrible dreams.

Tyson left the school building alone and grumbling. This was just not his day.

First off, he was tired and aching because Kai wouldn't let him leave for school until he'd completed all his launching drills, fifty push-ups and fifty ab-crunches. Then, because he was in such a hurry to avoid a late detention, he forgot to pick up his lunch money when he left the dojo, so he didn't have anything to eat all day besides the bad natto (how was that even possible?!) Hilary made him for breakfast. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was still late anyway! Then his math teacher screwed at him for not doing his homework (he meant to do it yesterday, but forgot because they all went to see Kai), so he ended up having a _double_ detention! Plus, he had detention for the rest of the week for missing his homework, _and_ extra homework as punishment!

"Argh, this _sucks!_ Stupid Kai and his stupid training. Gah, who needs him anyway?" Tyson muttered to himself as he made his way down the sidewalk, glaring and kicking a stray Pepsi can that dared to cross his path. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and wore an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

When he eventually returned to the dojo, Tyson was surprised to find that the yard was empty. He thought he'd find Kai and Hilary putting everyone through the ringer, but they were nowhere to be seen. He kicked off his shoes in the entryway and walked in.

"Uhh...guys?" he called out, looking into the training room, and then the kitchen. But they weren't there either. "Hmm, that's weird." Even weirder was the fact that he was talking to himself. He should probably stop doing that, before someone saw him and thought he was losing his marbles as well as his team.

He was making his way to his bedroom when he heard a floorboard creak suspiciously behind him. He turned around to look, thinking that it was probably Max playing a prank on him, when he suddenly saw his grandpa hurtling through the air towards him with his kendo sword held above his head.

"Heads up, home-dog!"

"Ahh, gramps!" Tyson yelled, before ducking the surprise attack. "You gotta stop doin' that, man! It's _not_ cool!"

Grandpa picked himself up off the floor before countering with just as much gusto, "Now whatch'ya trying to say there, homie? That I don't know what's down with the hip n' happenin'?"

"Ugh, please grandpa," Tyson said, visibly face palming. "Just...stop talking?"

"Hmph," Grandpa said in response, but didn't say anything more. He looked down at his grandson with concern in his eyes before continuing, "Bad day, T–dog?"

"Pfft, yeah, you can say that again!" Tyson said, throwing his arms up into the air and collapsing backwards onto his bed. Grandpa resisted the urge to say 'that again' and instead just waited for Tyson to continue. "I've had nothing to eat all day except Hilary's nasty natto, and I've got detention for a week for missing my math homework – not to mention that Kai and Hilary gave me a wake-up call from hell!"

Grandpa's eyes sparkled with amusement. Ah yes, the woes of being a teenager. "Chin up, my man! At least you've got your team up and runnin' again for the tournament!" He then laughed as Tyson groaned and mumbled something about how more tournaments equaled more training and less sleep. "And that home-girl of yours seems to be gelling pretty nice with your home-boys, 'specially K–dog. That's gotta be a good thing."

Tyson sat up on his bed and leveled his grandpa with a serious look. "Hilary and Kai?"

"Yeah! I heard 'em talking earlier, seems they've formed a pretty hip workin' relationship. Seems Kai thinks she's done a pretty nice job of keeping you and little Maxi on your toes this past year and wants her to act as the team's coach so he can umm, what'd he say?" Grandpa cleared his voice before continuing in a deep-voiced Kai impression, " _'Actually get some training in myself, instead of wasting my breath trying to get Tyson to move a muscle'_ or somethin' like that."

Tyson's jaw dropped as he listened to his grandpa speak. Brilliant, that was all he needed. The two biggest slave-drivers on earth joining forces only spelled misfortune and misery for this poor world champion. "Great," he spat. His life as a carefree teenager was officially over. Then he heard his stomach rumbling. "Yeah," he said mournfully, glancing down to his belly, "You better get used to that. Now that Kai and Hilary have teamed up, we'll be lucky if we even see one meal a day, let alone eat it..."

His grandpa laughed heartily before turning around and leaving the room. Calling over his shoulder he said, "By the way, I left some grub in the kitchen for you, T-dog."

Immediately Tyson's eyes lit up. He launched himself off the bed and flew right past his grandpa in the hall, jokingly calling 'thanks G-dog!' on his way past.

He was just about to tuck into some ramen and fried rice when he heard voices in the yard. Sounded like Max and the guys were back.

"Oh, there you are Tyson." Tyson groaned internally. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Hilary standing in the doorway. She was dressed in her training outfit, which consisted of a tiny little pink tank top and some white short-shorts. She had her arms folded and was leaning against the doorframe, looking slightly breathless. There was a slight blush covering her cheeks.

"T'chh, d'you think you could put some clothes on for a change, Hil?" Then he blinked at himself in shock. Where did that come from?

"What?!" she yelled, blushing even more and piercing Tyson's eardrums slightly.

From the look on the girl's face, he was already in trouble. Might as well go with it to the grave. "Yeah, you heard. Prancing about the place in your little short-shorts. Don't you realise you're in a house full of guys?" Even as he said it, his eyes were roaming over her legs against his own will. She actually had a pretty nice pair of legs – he didn't know why he hadn't noticed before. Okay, and stop that thought _right there._ Stupid Hilary, getting into his dreams last night and making him think things he did _not_ want to think. What was she doing, dressing like that anyway?

"Urghh, _Ty_ -son, you're such a pervert!" Hilary screeched, trying to cover her legs with her little hands. It wasn't working. Tyson rolled his eyes at her attempts before grabbing his bowl of ramen and stepping around her to leave the kitchen. "Hey, and just where do you think you're going?" she called, stomping down the hallway after him.

"Duh! Out into the yard to eat my food in peace."

"Oh no you don't." She said, speeding up to overtake him and lifting the bowl of noodles from his hands.

"Hey, give that back!"

"No –"

"Yes –"

"No!"

"Arghh, Hilary!"

By this point they had reached the garden and were bickering like a pair of toddlers. Max and Rei had stopped in their tracks to watch and Kenny just walked straight past them, already too used to their arguing to pay much attention. He simply sat down on the porch and opened up Dizzy. Kai was nowhere to be seen.

" _We've_ just come back from a three mile run, Tyson." Hilary said, starting up again and depositing his noodles on the porch next to Kenny. Then she twisted around to look at him again with her hands on her hips. Man, Tyson thought, she looks pissed. He'd have to make a mental note not to mention her lack of clothing again.

"Yeah. What's your point?"

"Well, you missed out on it. So," she said, narrowing her eyes at him, "you're just going to have to go out now and make up for it."

His jaw dropped. "What?!" He hadn't even finished his noodles yet! He tried to put on his puppy-dog face and looked at her pleadingly. "But Hil, it's not _my_ fault I got detention!"

"Oh, no, of course. It couldn't possibly be your fault that you didn't do your math homework. Again."

"Urgh, whatever. I'm _not_ going out for a run, Hilary."

" _I'm_ your coach, and I say you are, Tyson."

"Oh no I'm not!"

"Oh yes you are. _And_ if I hear one more word, I'll make you run another two miles as a penalty, you hear!?"

"Pfft," Tyson said, rolling his eyes, "Who died and made you queen?"

"Tyson." He spun around in response to the threateningly low voice behind his ear. Standing right behind him, with his arms folded and a dangerous glint in his eyes, was Kai. Where the hell did he come from? His face was only a few inches away from Tyson's own – much too close. He suddenly had a sinking feeling of deja-vu.

"Arghh!" Tyson said, jumping back about three feet and hiding behind Hilary, "Dude, get out of my face!" He did _not_ want to see Kai's face anywhere near his own, not after that nightmare he had this morning!

Kai just raised a bemused eyebrow at the navy haired Japanese blader's strange behaviour before glancing at Max and Rei for an answer. They shrugged and shook their heads, just as confused. "Hn. Whatever." He then began to stalk into the dojo, but as he reached the doorway he stopped and called over his shoulder. "Oh, and Tyson. Either you're going out on that run, or you're doing four-hundred squats. Your choice."

When Kai disappeared around the corner, Tyson collapsed amusingly to his knees in despair. "Aahhh! Why can't a guy just go to school without getting detention and eat some ramen and take a nap in the afternoon in peace?!" he shouted, throwing his arms up to the heavens as if pleading for an answer.

Max and Rei snickered behind their hands at him, while Hilary rolled her eyes and told him to stop being such a baby.

"It's not that bad, Ty." Max came over to stand by his best friend and lay a hand on his shoulder during his hour of need. "If you think about it, this is just like the good old days!" He then laughed as he heard Tyson mumble something about the good old days not being all that good.

"You know," Hilary chirped, patting him on the head mockingly, "the quicker you start your run, the quicker it'll be over." She then took a step back and offered him a hand and a smile. "Come on, I'll come with you. But only for like, half the way."

Tyson's groans were drowned out by the laughing of his team mates. And so began the first day of the next two month's training for the tournament.

Well, it could be worse.

At least it wasn't raining.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry guys! I'm a tad late with this update, I'd meant to upload it yesterday but I got home late yesterday and haven't been feeling to well over the weekend. Anyways, yeah, here's the chapter - enjoy!

~ Indie


	7. A Bad Memory

**A/N:** New chapter up, all new, never before seen content. I've been a little nervous about posting this for reasons which will be obvious when you start reading. It's also a bit of a long one - sorry!

* * *

 **Chapter Six: A Bad Memory**

"Ouch - ohforgoodness _sake!_ " Rachel cried sharply, retracting her arm from behind the gate. After surveying the long, crimson, hair-thin scrapes that now ran along her left forearm, she glared at the innocent looking hedge with venom in her eyes, half hoping that it would shrink away in fear. It didn't. As far as she could remember, this unused entrance into the grounds was always overgrown, bushy and just plain awkward - but there were never any thorns there! Huffing slightly, she pulled the sleeve of her jacket more protectively over her arm and bunched the end together in her hand. Then she reached around the bars and tried again.

This bloody latch was proving very difficult to find. Rachel had used this gate so many times to sneak out in the past that it had simply never occurred to her that sneaking _in_ through it wouldn't be as easy. Of course, it would help if she could see what she was doing, but the ivy had foreseen this apparently and, just to spite her, it had decided to grow so large and sprawling that it was a stroke of luck for her to have found the right spot at all. Working from memory, Rachel knew that the latch was roughly level to her shoulder, three bars to the left of the -

"Ha! Found you, you little bastard," she muttered triumphantly.

And now came the tricky part. Since this old gate was so disused, dislodging it from the tangled mass of shrubbery, vines and god knows what else would be no easy task. Pushing it roughly back and forth to try and gain some leeway, the brunette wondered vaguely why she couldn't just walk in through the front door - it would be so much easier. She knew she was being stupid and paranoid. It didn't _really_ matter if anyone found out that she was here. She just wanted to save herself the hassle of explaining why.

After much complaining, moaning and groaning (from both gate and girl), the hedgerow eventually gave way - if giving way meant that Rachel could now open it by about a foot wide. But it would have to do. The quicker she was in, the quicker she'd be out.

Ignoring the painful way the overgrowth was snagging through her hair, Rachel managed to wriggle and squirm her way through the barely open gate. She brushed the plant debris off herself, looked back to the mess she'd made of the hedgerow and smiled. From here on out, at least, it would be plain sailing. Turning around, the teen re-adjusted her bag a little more comfortably across her shoulder and made towards the stables.

Despite the appearance of the back gate, the grounds themselves were just as well manicured as she'd remembered. The lawns were well tended to and the gardens were in full spring bloom, erupting with fragrant cascades of yellow, soft pink and pale lavender. Even the weather was pleasant. Sure, there was a bit of a nip in the air, but there wasn't any of the rain nor cloud that one would expect in late April. The result: a startlingly bright, brisk spring morning with a slight breeze and a melodic rustle in the trees. It was the kind of weather for light jackets, fluffy hats, a book in the garden and a nice, hot drink. If it were any other day, she might have stayed a while to enjoy it. As it were, there were other things on her mind.

When Rachel was young, one of the things she'd loved to do out here was try to creep up on the squirrels as they scurried about looking for food, and try to catch one. They were funny little things, she thought, with their tiny hands, bright eyes and pointy ears. Plus, she liked the challenge. She'd almost managed get one once, too. It was a grey one, and she didn't see many of those at all. It was too busy burying its acorn in the earth to notice her and she'd been so careful not to make a sound. Oh, and she was _so_ close, less than two feet away. With baited breath she carefully stretched out her hands...

Then her mother found her and started shrieking. Filthy animals. Nasty vermin. What was she thinking - did she want to get bitten? Was she _trying_ to make a scene again? Did she _want_ to pass rabies on to her brother? And so on and so forth. When Rachel turned around again, the squirrel was nowhere in sight.

Stepping through the old wooden threshold into the empty stables, she walked right past one of the fluffy brown little critters without a second glance. Past the empty stalls that were once home to horses, but now home to nothing but dust. Through the second door on the left and into the service corridor. She spared a moment to peek stealthily into the kitchen - it, too, was empty. Then she lightly padded her way past the kitchen, into the hall and up the stairs. Without thought, she skipped over the seventh step. Somehow it still creaked anyway.

Soon enough, Rachel found herself walking the old, familiar route to her bedroom. Beneath tall, strong oak-wood beams and gilded picture frames on the walls, over lush crimson and sapphire rugs - the kind you just couldn't resist wriggling your toes into on lazy winter nights spent by the fire. The door on her left led to her father's study, with his big wooden desk and the squeaky old leather chair he hardly ever made use of. Opposite that was the library in which Rachel had spent more time than she'd like to admit climbing the shelves in her youth... she could still remember how the smell of old paper and stale wood clung to her hair. After that was a small sitting room that only ever saw use when her grandmother came over from Marseille to visit, followed by her parent's bedroom, after which she would find Liam's and then her own.

And if Rachel was experiencing a turbulence of emotions as she walked through these old halls, it didn't show in her face. If she was wading through memories, fond or otherwise, there was no light of recognition in her dark eyes. If she had any sort of urge to linger a while and reminisce, she resisted without even the slightest hesitation in her step. She passed by the closed door to her brother's room without seeming to acknowledge it at all, walked right on ahead to her own bedroom, silently opened the door and stepped inside.

And it was exactly the way she'd left it.

Well, not _quite_ exactly.

It was a great deal tidier than she remembered, and any shoes or books that might have been scattered around were now neatly in their place. Her desk and drawers were dusted and the heavy curtains pulled back wide, flooding the room with cool, white daylight. Underneath the rug, she was willing to bet that the birch wood floor still bore the dark, scorched scar from that time she'd left her hair straighteners plugged in. The half-dozen wall-mounted bookshelves were still full-to bursting with books, more than half of which she'd never bothered reading, and probably never would. The bottom-most of these was stacked full of CDs... she smiled a little ruefully as she picked out a few of her old favourites and shoved them inside her bag, nostalgia strong in the pit of her stomach. Then she turned around and surveyed the other side of the room. Her bed was bare and unmade, just a plain white mattress resting upon the frame. For some reason that upset her a little, although she couldn't explain why - it wasn't as though she used it anymore. But above the headrest, the wall was still plastered with a collage of photographs from her days in high school, just how she'd left it.

Dropping her little duffel bag onto the floor, Rachel paced over and let her eyes wash over the photographs, smiling. Dozens of snapshots from happier times. There she was on the trip to Milan, boarding the plane with Victoria and Rose. Then again the year before when there was a huge snowfall in March. She and Noah from Literature class, practicing for the recital of Paradise Lost. A shot of her hungover with Elspeth the night after that Halloween party - that wasn't pretty… and why on earth had she decided to wear _that_? Rachel half covered her face in shame and moved along. There was a photograph of her and Johnny at the regionals that she didn't even remember being taken, let alone pinning to the wall. Christmas when she was seven, her birthday when she turned thirteen, her first time riding a horse, her trying furiously to finger a complex chord on the guitar under her brother's instruction.

Rachel frowned and tore her eyes away from the photographs, turning her back on the wall. She had the feeling that if she looked any longer, she'd never leave.

Might as well just get it over with.

With renewed resolution set in her jaw, she pushed herself across the room and towards the drawers beneath the window. Inside, she would find what she came here for. Third drawer down, towards the back left corner beneath her examination records, inside an old shoebox that she'd covered with artsy wrapping paper when she was eleven.

Her beyblade.

She carefully removed the box and, cradling it in her arms, went to sit cross-legged in the middle of her bed - dirty boots and all. Placing the box before her, she delicately lifted the lid, placed it to the side and scooped up the spinning top.

And it was _exactly_ the way she'd left it.

Slate grey and razor sharp. Well, almost. Slightly shorter than the average beyblade, its body was compact and solid, the eight-heavy weight disk holding the blade together nice and firm. The wide spiral-upper attack ring which tapered out into three separate wings - one of which was missing - was still horribly blemished from her last battle. Everything else was chipped and scratched here and there, almost everywhere. It would take more than a little buffing out to get this thing battle-ready again. Rachel sighed. At least the tip was still fine and pointed. No worries there.

Then she cast her eyes towards the centre. Sitting proudly in the bit-chip was the form of a haunting swan, almost skeletal, draped in feathers of twilight black and midnight grey and faintly shimmering with a pale sort of light. Her Korrigan. And if Rachel thought she might have felt something upon being reunited with her blade - some kind of warmth maybe, or a mysterious breeze, or a sudden understanding of the path she should take - then she was utterly disappointed. Instead, she found herself simply sitting alone on her bed cradling a cold lump of metal and plastic in her hands to which she had given so much, and received so little in return.

... Now what?

She'd told herself that if she'd gotten this far, then she'd know what to do. That it would be easier to make a decision. This tournament, after all, it wasn't anything serious, there was nothing at stake. It was just a game, a friendly competition, a chance to test her skills and have a bit of fun. Oliver had said all of this to her and more before she left Paris the other day, and yet... still she hesitated.

Because she was afraid.

No.

No, she wasn't. Rachel wasn't scared, exactly. She was just reluctant, and understandably so. Sure, beyblading was only a sport for some people, a simple hobby or pastime - but she'd seen the darker side, been right in the thick of it. As innocent as these little spinning tops looked, it was easy to forget that they were also used as vessels for great power and that such power could be abused. But Rachel reminded herself yet again that this was nothing like that. As Oliver said, this tournament was just a bit of fun.

She'd spent the past three years running. If Rachel didn't confront this now, then... well, she didn't think she ever would.

Jaw set stubbornly, the brunette flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder and stood up. Walking faster than was perhaps necessary, she collected her bag from the floor and deposited it roughly on top of the bed. She quickly scanned the contents of the box, double-checking that it still contained all the miscellaneous beyblade parts and materials that she would need to get her blade back into working order once again. Once she was satisfied, she placed Korrigan carefully back into the box, closed it, placed it into her bag and turned to face the door. She roughly swung the duffel bag back over her shoulder and -

 _"- Shit!"_ Rachel hissed, cringing away from the sharp, cascading crash of broken glass. Slowly peering over her shoulder to assess the damage she saw that - yes, it _was_ the little decorative glass lamp she bought from the school-trip to Milan, of course it was. "Oh, but I loved that lamp..." she whimpered to herself, attempting to run a hand through the tangled mess of her hair in distress. And then she spun around and froze, the bag slipping from her shoulder as she listened to the brisk footsteps coming down the hall.

Wonderful. Well, she had two options.

Option one: quickly open the window, arrange the curtain over the drawers and hide in the closet until whoever was coming decided to leave. Only, she didn't know anyone who would buy that since there was nothing but the slightest breeze out today. Besides, her walk-in closet was a good 20 metres away, she'd never make it in time. And time, it seemed, had already chosen option two: stand there looking very sheepish and out of place while restlessly shifting from one foot to the other, damaging the lovely birch floor by further grinding down the shards of broken glass beneath her boots.

"Now, just what in the world was - Rachel? Oh, Rachel dear! When did you get here? You should have called ahead to say you were coming, I would have - why, just look at the state of you!"

Eleanor Moore. Or 'Nelly', as Rachel had always called her. Childhood friend of her father and Rachel's favourite among the house staff, all five-foot-and-two-inches of this woman came hustling and bustling towards her, crossing the entire room in a heartbeat. She stopped only to gather the young reluctant brunette up into the very definition of a mother-hen's embrace.

"H - hi, Nelly," Rachel managed to croak out through Nelly's iron grasp before she was released, briskly taken by the shoulders and spun around to face the large, Georgian-barred window once more.

"What a mess," the small woman clucked, picking roughly through Rachel's locks. Everything about her reminded Rachel of a bird - always had. A roosting hen when she was happy, a raving goose when she was mad. Even her cropped, wispy, dull-blonde hair resembled feathers. It shook around slightly as she continued crooning and complaining: "Twigs, pines, leaves; you've got half the estate all tangled up in your lovely hair - if your mother could see you now... You've been sneaking through the old service entrance again, haven't you? Oh, I don't know _why_ you don't just use the front door like everyone else, dear."

"Hmm, well it couldn't possibly be to avoid all this fu-"

"- And look at this jacket, it's practically hanging off of you," the woman continued. Rachel bristled. Fuss fuss fuss, every time. She rather thought this particular jacket fit her well, thank you very much. She'd only had it tailored last month. Nelly, however, completely ignored the teen's complaints and spun her around by the shoulders once more. She took a step back and placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the young girl disappointedly. "I know you'll insist otherwise, Rachel, you always do - but I'm quite sure you've not been feeding yourself..."

"Actually, Nelly, I have. I even ate _two bacon sandwiches_ on the train this morning," she lied.

Nelly pursed her lips. "...Oh, that's terribly unhealthy, dear," she said, shaking her head solemnly.

Rachel rolled her eyes and groaned. There was just no winning with this woman. Not that she resented her for it, not at all. She'd loved Nelly all her life. Sweet Nelly with her little blue apron and her lady-grey tea and lovely, crumbly Thursday afternoon scones. This was the woman who'd consoled Rachel through her first high-school heartbreak. She'd taught her how to tie her shoes, make daisy chains in the spring and to always say 'please' and 'thank-you' like a lady - though the wayward brunette had never really had much patience for the latter. She'd chided Rachel for sliding down the stair-rails and ruining her clothes with grass stains in the summer. And when Rachel came home from school one day singing playground rhymes with naughty words in them, Nelly never told her father so long as she promised not to say them again. So she didn't. At least, not when any of the grown-ups were listening.

So, as Rachel surveyed the woman now, with her flowered, button-down blouse and little woolly cardigan, she almost felt a twinge of guilt to see her large, dark brown eyes fall sadly on the duffel bag that lay on the floor. Almost.

"...You're not planning on staying, are you dear?"

"I'm afraid not, no," the teen sighed. "I came by to pick up a couple of things and, well, now I have them." She stooped down to pick up her bag again and carefully brushed some of the glass fragments off.

"Your father -"

"Yes, I know. He's stuck in the House of Lords all weekend," Rachel interjected, slowly stepping around the small woman and making towards the door. She knew exactly where this conversation was going and was more than eager to leave before it went there.

Nelly clucked disapprovingly at her retreating back. "Oh Rachel, you really should have called ahead, he misses you _terribly_! I tell you," she affirmed with her hands on her hips, "that man would reschedule life-saving surgery if he knew you were coming! _Nothing_ in all the world would keep him from -"

"Yes, Nelly," Rachel said somewhat sharply over her shoulder. "I know."

The dull-blonde made a despairing noise, her feathery hair shaking along with her head. "You're every bit as stubborn as that mother of yours sometimes, Rachel. I don't know why you insist on punishing him like this, but -"

" _Punishing_ him?" That stopped the brunette in her tracks. From the doorway, she twisted around to look at the woman incredulously. Being compared to her mother was bad enough, but to be accused of punishing her father... what on earth had led Nelly to come to that conclusion? But Rachel supposed she should have expected it. This is how is had always been. Everybody always assumed the worst of her. She felt her blood begin to boil. "Oh yes, because that's exactly like me, isn't it? I just can't _resist_ twisting the knife -"

"Now Rachel, don't be ridiculous - you know I don't mean it like that," Nelly protested, throwing her tired hands up into the air. Exhausted exasperation coloured her pleading tones. The poor woman had this conversation a dozen times before, and would probably have it a dozen times again. And what a shame for them both that it never ended well. "I just think that -"

"That what? That I don't care about all the hassle and the grief I've caused him, or that I don't realise it? Because believe me, I am painfully aware," she interrupted, her voice low and shaking. She tried hard to ignore the edge of hysteria that she heard creeping tone of her words. Why couldn't she handle this? Gripping the handle of her bag tightly, she took a deep breath and continued. "We've been through this. If I never do more than one thing right in my life, I _need_ for that one thing to be this. It's the least I can do, and I just... I wish you could see how it's for the best."

"Rachel, sweetheart," Nelly said in placating tones. Her warm, dark eyes were large and imploring. She had the air of someone trying to coax a wounded, frightened animal into safety - all kindness and patience. "All this distance, this… keeping yourself away. I know you want to make things right, but… Your place is here - home, with the people who love you and care about you. What you're doing now is just making things worse -"

"Worse? How could things _possibly_ be worse?" Rachel cried. She could feel herself shaking with the effort to stay calm. She needed to leave before things got out of hand, but she couldn't stop her words from tumbling out. "Look around, Nelly," she said, gesturing around herself and beginning to pace around with restless agitation. "All these rooms, the halls, the grounds, the house _\- e_ mpty! _Because_ of me. That's why I can't be here, I don't want -"

" _Rachel_ , -"

"For Christ's sake, Nelly, no! Just _stop it_!" She yelled, spinning around in the doorway to face her. A silence fell into the room, cold and clean and sharp as glass, full to bursting with the delicate weight of things unsaid. The brunette cringed at Nelly's reaction, at the look on her face; Rachel's tone had cut through the poor woman like a like a knife. She tried again. "Look," she breathed softly, into silence. "I know you mean well but… things will _never_ be as they once were... how can they be? I _love_ my father, but he's been through _enough_. And I just -"

But Rachel never got to finish what she was about to say, because the phone in her pocket chose that moment to start ringing. Its cheery, twinkling tone shattered the silence entirely, frightening it away. Like a startled bird it left the room and took with it all of those unsaid words. Everything Rachel had planned on saying died in her throat, and she closed her mouth as Nelly turned away to face the window. With the tension still hanging in the air, but all her momentum now lost, Rachel sighed and brought the phone out of her pocket to view the display. Johnny. She cancelled the call. He could wait until she got outside.

Glancing up again, Rachel surveyed the back of the woman who, all her life, had shown her more love and tenderness than she had ever known from her own mother, and felt disgusted with herself. Nelly's arms were folded, her shoulders tight. Shaking. Rachel couldn't see her face anymore, not even her reflection upon the glass. That was probably for the best.

"Nelly," she said quietly, hesitantly. "I've got to go ...send father my love, will you?"

Silence.

Rachel lingered for a few moments longer and opened her mouth once, twice, as if to say something more. But then she closed it firmly. She'd caused enough damage already. She made Nelly cry again. She never said the right things. This is why she seldom came home, why she never stayed. So she bit her lip and strode back down the corridor purposefully, leaving the woman standing there alone in the midst of all that broken glass to pick up the pieces.

As always.

* * *

"- Heads up!"

Johnny blinked, ducking his head down and towards the left. Half a second later he saw the black-and-white blur of a football whiz past the point where his head would have been. He even felt a whisper of air kiss him on the cheek as it passed. How strange, he thought for a moment, that the shouted warning for incoming projectiles making a bee-line right for your face should be 'heads up' when in fact what you should be doing is the exact opposite. How ironic. How stupid.

"You wannae mind where you're kicking that thing?" Johnny called irritably towards the group of teens across the field, one of whom was now jogging towards him with his hands held apologetically in front of him.

"Sorry mate! Weren't me, it were Dan - he can't aim fer shit," the youth said, pointing indiscriminately towards his friend, as though the useless gesture would somehow allow Johnny to pick this 'Dan' out from the crowd. Ignoring the teen as he trotted past to collect the ball, Johnny rolled his eyes and pressed on along the path through the park.

Squinting ahead through the early evening sunlight, the redhead spotted the peaked, bronzed roof of the park's cafe nestled in among the trees. The building itself was of an interesting design; old stone bricks and glass pane walls, straight whitewashed beams intercepting with graceful curves where you least expected them - a recent renovation of the traditional old cottage Johnny remembered from his younger years. But this architectural intrigue and artistry was wasted on the redhead, who was considerably more concerned with brooding and belly aching than taking in the sights.

"Oh, I'll just come and meet you at the station," Johnny muttered scathingly under his breath, putting on a crude, high pitched imitation of a certain brunette's accent. "No no, I went for a walk in the park, I'll meet you by the lake." He shoved his hands a little further into his pockets, his face twitching with impatience. You see, the Johnny had been prancing around the streets of Derby like a prat all afternoon, going this way and that, arriving at his destination only to receive a phone call from his childhood friend that, actually, she'd gone somewhere else and would he mind meeting her there instead. Well yes, actually, of course he bloody minded. "I swear to god if I get one more phone call when I walk through those doors..." He let the empty threat drift out into the open air as he reached the cafe, placed his hands upon the cool, smooth glass panes of the doors and pushed.

Instantly, he was embraced with warmth and the bittersweet aroma of coffee intertwined with traces of honey, cinnamon, vanilla and something spicy... maybe ginger? Oliver would know. Oliver would probably wrinkle his delicate little nose in complaint.

Inside the cafe, along the left hand side of the room and against the wall, was the counter on which were displayed today's goods - the number of which he was sure were probably much decreased from this morning. After all, at twenty-to-six, they were less than half an hour from closing time. Nevertheless, there was still a fairly decent sized chunk of what seemed to be a chocolate and almond cake that, he didn't mind admitting, he might quite like to sink his teeth into right now. Chasing after phone calls all afternoon had given him a bit of an appetite. Taking a quick, slightly irritated glance around at the tables, Johnny deliberated for a moment as to whether or not he should buy a slice before the next inevitable phone call came to summon him to the next location. Then he stopped, his irritation evaporating, for it seemed that the next phone call might not be coming after all.

She was sitting at the far end of the room when he saw her. Right at the back, framed by the warm, late afternoon sunlight that spilled into the cafe through the windows behind her and bathed everything inside it with a soft, golden hue. From this angle, the light held her in an almost complete silhouette, but he knew it was her. Sitting in the light as she was, the sun revealed whispers in her sloppy, tangled braid of the almost blonde she'd had as a child. She held the same lazily self-assured posture as always, and by the looks of it she still had her thing for boots. Even from this angle, Johnny could see her feet twitching away, as always. It was like nothing had changed. And as Johnny watched Rachel sitting there at the table with her back turned to him, it felt almost as if the last three years hadn't happened at all. As if everything hadn't fallen apart. As if he hadn't watched her struggle through the breakdown and its fallout. As if she hadn't changed. As if the urge to flee hadn't won out in the end and she hadn't left the country over two years ago without so much as a word. As if what he was about to try and convince her to do wouldn't be that hard after all. Almost.

"I'm glad you finally decided to stay in one place," Johnny grunted, throwing himself roughly down in the seat opposite her a few minutes later. There was a slice of chocolate-almond cake sitting neatly upon the plate in his hand. It wouldn't be for much longer.

Rachel was too busy looking out the window to notice him. She was leaning on the armrest of her chair and glaring out towards the lake at the far end of the park, all sense of the world around her blocked out by her earphones. Not one to be ignored, Johnny glanced under the table and took aim, roughly kicking the girl's foot. It promptly stopped jiggling around in time with her music as she jumped about a foot in the air. Johnny snickered and picked up his cake as Rachel snatched the wires away from her ears, held a hand to her heart and glared at him. "For God's sake, Johnny, what is wrong with -" she began, before stopping and stifling some laughter of her own. "Oh bloody hell," she said, "you've gotten _fat._ "

Johnny stopped, the cake currently midway to his mouth. He dropped it back on the plate almost as quick as if it had sprouted legs and spluttered indignantly. "Fat?" The nerve of her... gone without a word for two years and the first thing she does is insult him? "These are muscles!" Johnny insisted.

The brunette smiled wryly, now fully recovered from her previous shock. "I don't know, you look awfully soft to me. I mean, are you entirely sure you want to be eating that?" she asked, gesturing with her eyebrows to the cake on his side of the table. She began inching her fingers towards it. "Because I could always -"

"No no, I'm eating it, alright," he assured her, possessively sliding the plate closer to himself and picking up the cake once more.

"Fine, fine," she shrugged impishly. "It's your waistline." The teen took Johnny's silence as an opportunity to help herself to another mouthful of whatever was in her mug. But she must have forgotten that it was empty, because she made a disgruntled face upon looking inside before placing it back down on the table. Then she noticed Johnny was still glaring at her. "Oh lighten up, I was only joking," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "...I just didn't expect you to have such big, like, man shoulders now, that's all."

"Man shoulders?" Johnny scoffed, opening his mouth to take another, hopefully uninterrupted, bite.

"Yes, man shoulders. You're all right-angled and broad all of a sudden," the brunette mused, holding her hands before her and pantomiming what Johnny guessed were supposed to be rectangular 'man shoulders'.

Well that was much better, he thought. Broad and manly - he liked the sound of that. Johnny smiled. And then he grimaced, chewing through his mouthful of cake with intense dislike. "Ughh," he groaned, pushing his plate and the rest of the cake away from him. He swallowed with some difficulty. "Dark chocolate," he exclaimed with absolute disgust written all over his face.

"I know. Lovely, isn't it?" Rachel enthused. "I had some earlier while wai-"

"It's vile." Johnny said, pushing the plate away from him as though it had caused him great offence - and to be quite honest, it had. "Who in their right mind puts dark chocolate into a cake?"

"I take it you'll not be having the rest, then?" she asked, ignoring his complaints.

"Be my guest," Johnny grunted, but not before she'd already helped herself to it anyway, forking her way through it like a priss. He reached over eagerly to grab her mug in the meantime and wash out the awful bitterness of the cake, and then glared at the emptiness inside of it. He, too, placed it back down disappointedly before glancing hopefully at the counter across the room and searching through the menu on the wall. "You've got horrible taste, you know that right?" he muttered as he scanned through the menu. A multitude of coffees, fruit blends, herbal teas... bloody fancy cafes - where was the good stuff?

"You're such a child. There's absolutely nothing wrong with dark chocolate," she insisted. "And it's actually quite good for you. Oh! But speaking of tastes," she exclaimed excitedly, suddenly pushing her chair back and ducking under the table, "I've got something for you."

Johnny's eyebrows shot up, his mind temporarily distracted from the disappointing lack of sweet beverages. "Huh, something for me?" he echoed, ducking down and peering under the table just in time to see Rachel's head disappear as she resurfaced. The redhead only narrowly avoided hitting his own head off the table as he sat up to join her.

"Yes," she affirmed, smiling brightly. "Something for you."

The package was small and somewhat lumpy, yet still neatly wrapped in high quality brown parcel paper with a red ribbon around it. She tossed it across the table at him and he caught it with one hand. It was heavier than he expected considering its size. "What is it?" he said, turning it over.

"Nothing much," she replied with a lazy wave of her hand. "Just something I saw at a street market in Ontario over the winter. Go on, go on - open it," she urged, leaning forward and grinning.

Johnny shrugged. "Alright, keep your knickers on," he muttered with staged aloofness, trying to seem less interested in the little parcel than he actually was. He hadn't really expected that she'd agree to meet him at all, let alone come bearing gifts. Johnny wondered vaguely whether he should have bought something for her. He carefully eased the ribbon off the parcel before proceeded to roughly tear away at the seams of the paper. First he revealed a small brown hoof, followed by what looked to be antlers accompanied by muffled snickering from across the table. "Oh, fuck off," he scoffed, realising at once what the present was and resisting the urge to throw it at her. He settled for kicking her boots again under the table instead.

"What, don't you like it?" Rachel asked wickedly while wiggling away from his kicks, her eyes shining mirth. "It's delightful!"

It most certainly was not delightful, Johnny thought, setting it down on the table between them. It was a rough wooden carving of a pair of moose - a long running joke between the pair. Long story short, when Johnny was a small boy, his pride and joy had been his grandfather. His father was always too busy, but Grandpa had all the time in the world for the little redhead. He'd loved sitting on the elderly man's knee and listening to his war stories and hunting tales, imagining that one day he too might be able to do all those exciting and dangerous things. The large stag's head that was mounted above the grand fireplace back home was shot down by none other than his grandfather on _his_ 16th birthday, and _that_ particular tale had kept Johnny enthralled for many a bedtime in his youth. One day, Johnny made the mistake of letting slip to Rachel just how proud he was of that stag. He'd been receiving ridiculous little antlered trinkets ever since.

"You can put it on the mantelpiece with all the others," Rachel continued fondly, fiddling with the end of her knotty braid.

Johnny lobbed the brown paper ball he'd been scrunching up in the general direction of her face. She dodged with ease. "This is not going on anyone's mantelpiece, anywhere," he said, picking up the small figurine and brandishing it at her. It was a little hard to tell since the carving was so rough, but it seemed to depict two moose in the shadow of a pine tree, fornicating with reckless abandon.

"Why not?" Rachel countered with mock disappointment in her voice. "It's so…"

"… Vulgar?"

"Yes," the brunette agreed, clicking her fingers. "Perfectly vulgar. I think it's probably the best I've bought so far," she continued, nodding to herself. Johnny couldn't help but smirk at how pleased she seemed with herself.

"I don't know how something like this even exists," the redhead mused, picking it up again and examining the inappropriate ornament with an amused interest in his pale eyes. "Mind you," he continued, looking over the moose's embrace at her, "it still isn't as bad as Uthbert."

"As who - Oh! Oh my god, _Uthbert the uncouth_ , how could I forget?" Rachel let out a great peal of laughter, her eyes bright and shoulders loose. "He was just magnificent. And your mother's face..." she recounted with glee.

"Well it's not every day your son brings home a carved elk complete with a massive swinging scrotum, is it?" he exclaimed, swinging his new ornament about wildly. "You never did tell me where you got that one from."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why? If you want another, all you need to do is ask."

"...Piss off."

They laughed together, and just like that Johnny had fallen back into the past again.

This was the girl who he'd switched all of his father's socks around with that one time, messing up their perfect pairs, sniggering with silent, mischievous glee. She was the girl who wasn't afraid to pick up worms and who tracked more mud around the manor than he did when her family came to visit. She was the idiot who convinced him to sneak out with his father's rifle that autumn, all too eager to start shooting, but she'd cried when the pheasant they'd shot writhed around helplessly in pain, beyond saving. She was the girl he'd secretly crushed on in his early teens and who, despite the continually messy state of her curls, he knew she cared more about her hair than she'd ever admit. He still remembered the sight of it falling to the floor, lock by lock, when she'd taken those scissors to it, leaving behind only ragged, patchy tufts to frame her hollow, vacant eyes.

But now here she was - vibrant, bright eyed and messily braided once again, looking as though there wasn't a damn thing in the world that could touch her. Her haughty little eyebrows were exactly as annoying as they should be. She seemed happy and he couldn't believe how much he'd missed that.

"You know, you look really well, Rachel," he voiced once their laughing had ceased. But it spoiled the moment. Her eyes tightened and at once the room seemed to lose its warmth. Rachel's smiled faded and she recoiled back in her chair and sighed, looking at him with guarded eyes. Suddenly, she seemed so unsure of herself. It occurred to him now that her bravado might just have been a façade. Stupid. He should have kept his big mouth shut. "Sorry, I didn't mean -"

"No, I know exactly what you mean," she said, almost scowled. Her voice was sharp with acid. "...I look well for a girl who completely tore her family apart, right?"

Johnny's brow furrowed with indignation. "Now wait. That isn't even close to what I said. That's not fair and you know it."

Rachel blinked. Then she caught herself and sighed again, running a hand impatiently through her hair and then tutting as it got caught up in her braid. She turned to stare out of the window, a stormy tempest churning around in those dark eyes. He wished he knew what she was thinking. Those eyes weren't as easy to read as they used to be. "You're right," she breathed after a moment, so softly Johnny wasn't sure if he was hearing things or not. She continued glaring out towards the rapidly approaching glorious sunset. "I'm sorry."

Johnny fiddled with his ornament over the passing silence, jaw tight. Maybe dragging Rachel back off her travels wasn't such a good idea after all. He'd already touched a nerve and hadn't even made any mention of the tournament yet. He could already imagine what a glaring bloody success that would be. Johnny considered getting up to buy himself a drink before broaching the subject of the tournament, if for no other reason than to douse the flames of her explosion when he did. That fool Enrique, convincing him that this would be a good idea. And more fool Johnny for believing him.

Rachel shuffled awkwardly in her chair. "Well, go on then," she said, leaning her elbow on the armrest of her chair and tiredly propping her head up on her hand. "Ask me."

"Huh?" Johnny grunted, pulled out of his thoughts. "Ask you what?"

The brunette narrowed her murky grey-green eyes at him and held him in a cool regard. "… I really can't tell whether you're playing dumb with me or not."

Johnny smirked, attempting to lighten the mood again. It was nicer to be around Rachel when she wasn't so tense. He bent down to rummage in his backpack and placed his new moose ornament inside of it. "Would it be worth my life to?" he asked.

Johnny watched the brunette fight with herself as she attempted to stare him down for a moment, but then lost the battle as the corners of her lips began to rise reluctantly. "I suppose not, no."

She continued looking at him speculatively for a while, chewing on her lip, wrestling with some sort of decision. Johnny decided to look out the window and leave her to it - he didn't like being held under someone's gaze for so long. It made him feel ever so slightly self-conscious, and that's not something he was used to feeling. So he tried to appreciate the view instead. Everything was lush and fresh and green and bursting with new life, dipped in gold with the oncoming sunset. Johnny sighed, feeling vaguely like he was turning into Oliver. Then Rachel's struggle eventually reached its conclusion, apparently, for he heard her dive under the table and rummage around in her bag again. When she resurfaced, Johnny looked up. She was sitting back in her chair, staring at whatever she had cradled in her hands.

"What's that?" he asked, feigning nonchalance and resisting the urge to crane his neck and snatch a view.

She didn't reply. She simply leaned forwards and placed it in the middle of the table between them, not taking her dark eyes off it. Johnny recognised it instantly and _damn,_ just look at the state of it. Johnny's patience crumbled and he picked it up without invitation. "Shit..." he breathed softly, turning the wreck of a beyblade over in his hands and scanning it thoroughly under his pale lavender gaze. This was definitely not the way he remembered it. Simply a ghost of its former glory days, the steely grey blade was now quite literally covered with gashes, dents and craters. Honestly, he was surprised the thing was still in one piece. An entire attack wing was missing, and as for the defense ring...

"I know. It's a little worse for wear," the brunette said lowly, not meeting his eyes.

"A little?" Johnny gasped, completely missing the understatement. "What the hell did you do to it?"

She shrugged. "You should have seen the other guy," Rachel muttered dryly. Her dark humour was not missed.

"... You really haven't touched it since, have you?"

"Nope."

"Were you ever planning on -"

"Not really."

"What made you change your mind?"

Rachel met his eyes at last. She crossed her legs and her left foot began to fidget, as it tended to when she was nervous or unsure of something. The redhead watched as she let loose her braid and began to run her fingers through its tangles, stalling for time. "You probably think I'm pathetic, don't you?"

"Always have," Johnny smirked. "But why are you asking now, specifically?"

Rachel held her left hand out expectantly. Johnny obliged by chucking the spinning top carelessly across the table. She caught it and her dark eyes scrutinised it carefully as she continued talking. "I've been running from this for nearly three years now," she said quietly, pensively. Johnny tensed, listening attentively. Rachel never talked about what happened that night, never opened up. When they were younger, she used to tell him everything. Now here he was, reduced to grasping for details in passing to have any idea of what went on inside her head. How much things had changed. "Like a coward. Like a stupid, frightened little girl. Because I'd gotten way in over my head with something and when it all came down to it in the end, I just couldn't handle it." Slowly, her eyes refocused. When they met Johnny's pale eyes, he could see embers of defiance in their dark depths. "I need to know that I'm in control of this. And I am sick and tired of running. So... if you'll have me, and if the other guys don't mind, then I'm in. I'll come to the tournament."

Johnny blinked, wide eyed. "Just like that?" he laughed, running a relieved, disbelieving hand through his unruly shock of red hair. "Fucking hell, Rachel, I was rehearsing the entire way here how to convince you to come along and -"

"But I need to know that you've got my back," she interrupted, not returning his smile.

"Yeah yeah, 'course I -"

"No, let me finish," she interrupted, flicking her curls irritably. She took a deep breath and started again. "I lost control, Johnny -"

His smile fell as butted in. "It was an accident -"

"You weren't there -"

"And you had no choice -"

"I lost control," she repeated firmly. "And I need to know that if it happens again -"

"I won't let it won't come to that -"

"But if it does -"

"For God's sake, Rachel, just stop being such a bloody drama queen," Johnny cried, throwing his hands out before him with impatiently. "You are worrying way too much over nothing and it's starting to piss me off," he said gruffly. What happened to the reckless, wayward girl who never thought twice about anything? Where did she go? He leaned over the table and snatched the steely grey spinning top from out of her fidgeting hands. Ignoring her attempts to regain ownership of the blade, Johnny applied pressure and twisted the attack ring counter-clockwise, letting it loose from the main body.

"Johnny, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Einstein," he muttered.

Counter-balance and weight disk came next, followed by the rest of the blade. Piece by piece, Johnny laid out the beyblade on the table between them, sitting them neatly in a line. The defense ring stuck a little, its torn edges and injured frame offering considerable resistance. But it eventually gave way. Finally, he dislodged the bit-chip from the attack ring, then sat back to admire his handiwork.

"Okay. Take a good look."

"Oh, I've been taking a good look. What exactly are you doing pratting about with -"

"This is nothing but a bad memory," Johnny said, brushing over her complaint as though he hadn't heard it. He gestured towards the ruined beyblade parts. "And it's the last time you'll be seeing it. 'Cause you sure as hell aren't blading in my team with that wreck," he asserted.

Rachel scoffed. "Your team?" she repeated scathingly, her superior little eyebrows twitching away.

"Yes, my team." Johnny had been thinking long and hard about this fact for all of two minutes before he came to the inevitable conclusion. With Robert not participating, who else would take over as captain? Not Oliver. That gentle, soft-spoken girl's blouse couldn't handle leadership over a team, and as for Enrique...

No, Johnny was the only capable member who could lead the Majestics properly, that much was obvious.

"Well, at least give me back Korrigan, then," she said testily, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

"Hm? Oh," Johnny replied, looking down in his hands to the bit-chip he hadn't realised he was fiddling with. In the centre sat Korrigan, Rachel's pain in the ass bitbeast. It had been a long time since he'd seen the black swan in action, swooping around the stadium with distinct aloofness, an eerie grace in its swift movements. He could still remember the sound of its wings. Now it, too, seemed washed out, tired and misused, just like the blade it was housed in. Hopefully that would change soon. "Here," he said gruffly, holding it out to her. He dropped it into her outstretched palm.

Rachel held onto it delicately. It seemed surprisingly small, sitting there in the palm of her hand. Her brow was furrowed and her face troubled as she looked down at it, and again Johnny wished that he knew what she was thinking.

"Right," the redhead said briskly, getting to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. What time is it?" he asked, too lazy to take out his phone and check for himself.

"It's a quarter past six, love," said one of the ladies from behind the counter as she came by to relieve a nearby empty table of its cups and plates. In fact, all the tables were empty. Johnny looked around and discovered that he and Rachel were the only two people in the room who weren't cafe staff. "Was everything to your liking?" she asked, smiling politely.

"Er, yeah. It was fine thanks," he lied, suppressing a shudder as he remembered the awful cake. "Sorry for overstaying. Come on Rachel, we're going," he said, nudging roughly past her to pick up her bag from the floor.

"Hmm...?" she toned, finally managing to tear her eyes away from the chip in her hand.

"It's past closing," he said shortly.

"Oh - sorry!" the brunette exclaimed, moving to pick up her bag and blinking around when she found it wasn't there. "I didn't realise it was so late already."

"Oh, it's fine, it's fine, there's no rush, dears," said the lady, completely laden with plates, cups and cutlery. She was already halfway back to the counter again, performing an impressive balancing act as she disappeared into the kitchen. "Thank you for coming!"

Rachel slipped the bit-chip carefully into her pocket and looked around sadly at the remains of her beyblade laid bare on the table. Then she turned and met his eyes, and began to work her arms into her jacket. "So, where to?"

Johnny placed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Don't ask me. It's not like _I_ used to live here or anything."

Rachel scoffed. "Asshole," she muttered. Then she tucked some loose bangs behind her ear before continuing. "There used to be this really nice salad bar down the road from here, super green. Everything's organic and sourced locally. I used to love going there."

Johnny levelled a glare at her. Salad? Him? Pfft. "Seriously though," he said, opening the door and letting a cool evening breeze sweep through the cafe. He held it open with his boot while waiting for the girl to catch up.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Fine fine. There's a Frankie and Benny's along the high street and a pub around the corner… but it's always looked a bit dodgy to me. There's a TGI Fridays closer to town from what I remember, and -"

"Fridays it is."

The brunette sighed, faffing with her jacket. Noisy, cheep and ridiculously cheerful, the diner was precisely everything Rachel tried to avoid when eating out and this was something Johnny knew well. "Of course it is," she said under her breath. "Bloody commoner."

"Stop complaining and hurry up," he said, shouldering her bag as well as his own backpack out of habit.

"Alright alright, keep you knickers on," she echoed, smirking while zipping up her jacket. "You look good with my bag, by the way. Suits you."

Johnny looked down towards her black leather and grey tweed duffel bag, complete with navy accented trim and the badge of some brand or other he didn't care to recognise, and grimaced. His friend's taste was by no means feminine - never was - but even that didn't mean that this bag was anywhere near 'masculine' enough to suit him. He wouldn't be seen carrying it at all if she wasn't directly in his company. "Ha ha," he snarked, "shut up or you can carry it around yourself."

"No no, it's fine, you keep hold of it," she said, brushing past him through the doorway.

On the way out, the brunette took one final, furtive glance back to her dismantled beyblade on the table. Johnny could see guilt in those dark eyes, and regret. He looked across the room at the pieces too and wondered if he'd ever find out what really happened that night. There was so much pain and secrecy involved that he wondered if he even really wanted to know. Then he looked back around again and saw that those tangled, lazy curls were already a good twenty paces down the path.

"Oi, wait up," he called, jogging towards Rachel's retreating back, leaving the destroyed parts of her old beyblade behind them, never to be seen by either of them again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, well, there you have it - Rachel's official introduction.

When writing and redrafting the series, one of my biggest love/hate/disappointments was Rachel. I had spent so long working on her and her relevance to the story, and then had been so afraid of playing the OC card that I worked twice as hard on making her seem less important, less lime-light taking (which is silly, since she never really takes it anyway), with the result being that I became immensely dissatisfied with the substandard version of her that I delivered.

Rachel has been a character in 'my' beyblade universe for at least six years now, from the time that she bubbled up in the dark and unseen corners of my imagination to the day that she stepped forwards into the light and told me everything about her that she thought I needed to know. I say it like this because, even as I redrafted and refined other aspects of the series (our antagonists, the mechanics of blading, the 'lore' as I see it behind the bitbeasts') I learned new things about her daily. Anyway, all of this is besides the point.

All that I wanted to say is that Rachel, a bit like Tyler and a couple other OC's of mine that are waiting in the wings, are a bit like children to me - and it is surprisingly nerve-wracking to then send them forth into your hands. Despite that, this time around I decided to write her as _I_ would have her, not as I think my audience would. As a result I am much happier with her in this chapter and in all that follow, and I can only hope that this is a good sign and that she will be reasonably well received.

As always, I would be absolutely delighted to hear your thoughts and opinions on this or any other chapter - the good and the bad. If you have questions, or compliments, or concerns, or flaming, by all means throw them at me. I'll be sure to get back to you.

Anyway, I hope you've all had a lovely week, and I'll see you next time!

~ Indie


	8. Picking Fights and Pearls of Wisdom

**Chapter Seven: Picking Fights and Pearls of Wisdom**

"Now Galux, Cat Scratch attack!"

"Dodge it Galman - Crazy Monkey!"

Mariah watched as Kevin's beyblade began to wobble and blur before splitting into three. She effortlessly dispatched of the two decoy blades when they shot towards her before coming to collide with Kevin's true blade in midair. His Galman was pushed backwards and landed clumsily on one of the stepping stones in the lake they were practicing on. Mariah stood at one end of the lake on one of the larger, taller stepping stones, smirking as she watched Kevin try to make Galman regain balance after the last attack. Kevin was at the opposite end of the lake, glaring and shouting at his blade.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the White Tigers were practicing for the tournament. The sun was high in the sky and the sounds of birdsong weaved through the breeze that passed by. Every now and then a catfish or two would jump out of the lake, as if they'd been sent up by their friends to get an update on the match. The lake was spotted with stepping stones and water lilies, and it was here that the bladers practiced on to hone agility and precision.

Lee was stood at the far end of the lake with his arms folded, overseeing the match. Gary was sat on the bank of the lake with his toes in the water. He was contentedly eating a mango, smiling as some curious little Koi fish swam up to see the cause of the ripples in their lake.

Kevin cursed as his blade began to lose speed from spinning out of balance for too long. Then he cursed again as he heard Mariah's tinkering laugh from the other side of the clearing. "Argh, quit your laughing. Galman, attack!"

Mariah watched through sparkling eyes as Kevin's blade wobbled once, twice, then jumped up off the stepping stone it was spinning on. It flipped over pathetically once in the air before landing on the next stone and wobbling again.

"All right Mariah, wrap it up," Lee called, bringing an end to the clearly one sided battle.

"No problem, Lee. Galux, finish it!" In one swift movement, Mariah's blade shot off the stone it was balanced on before meeting Kevin's unbalanced blade in the middle. She knocked it backwards with ease and it landed on the bank behind him. She then called back her own blade and pocketed it with a sly smile. "Well, I'd like to say that was fun, but it really wasn't."

"Shut up, Mariah. It's not me, it's this stupid new Magnacore! It's gotta be broken or something." He trailed off, grumbling to himself.

"Ha, whatever Kevin. You're just losing your edge."

"Hey, break it up you two and get over here." Lee voiced, calling an end to the bickering before it began. Mariah sent one more teasing look towards the smallest member on their team before lithely skipping from stone to stone across the lake and stopping beside her elder brother. Kevin merely jumped backwards off the stone he was stood on before trudging around the lake the long way to meet his team, grumbling the whole way with his hands in his pockets.

"So Lee, how'd I do?"

"Mariah, you were fine. You've got the hang of controlling Galux with the Magnacore, but I just want you to work on putting a little more power into your attacks. Right now you're favouring speed over everything else, I want you to balance your approach a little more."

"Sure thing, Lee."

"And Kevin," said the captain, turning to Kevin who had just reached the group. "You really need to start focusing."

"What?" the green haired blader exclaimed, throwing his little arms up into the air. "I am focusing! I'm not the problem, it's the stupid Magnacore -"

"It's not the Magnacore, Kevin. You've gotta stop thinking of ways to distract your opponent and start focusing on your own blade, otherwise you'll never get control of it. Anyway, it was your idea to upgrade our blades for the competition. Remember?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Kevin mumbled, folding his arms and blowing a puff of air up his bangs.

Lee was about to speak again when they were all interrupted by the sound of a long, low grumbling to the side of them. In unison, Kevin, Mariah and Lee all turned their heads to the side and looked down at Gary, who was still sitting at the side of the lake and was now smiling at them rather meekly. His stomach gave another grumble to fill the silence.

"Oh Gary," Mariah said rolling her eyes, "Don't tell us you're still hungry. You've been eating this whole time!" She walked over towards him and crouched down at the side of the lake, twiddling her finger around on the water to try and attract some fish. She smiled when a Koi fish came and nudged her hand.

"Only mangos," Gary protested. "I have a big appetite."

"You don't have an appetite, Gary," Kevin said, jumping on Gary's back with a mischievous light in his eyes. "You have a black hole."

"Hey Kevin, watch out -" Mariah started, but it was too late. Gary had already lost balance and toppled forwards into the lake with a splash. She shrieked and held her hands out in front of her to cover her face from the splashes and the Koi fish wriggled away just in time to avoid being flattened. Kevin had fallen with his mouth wide open in mid-laugh and was now spluttering and trying to regain his breath. Gary resurfaced just a few seconds later with a lily pad gracing his head and he leveled Kevin with a highly unamused glare.

"I'm wet," the bearlike blader said through narrowed eyes.

Kevin took just a few moments to stop coughing before croakily snarking back, "Well done, genius. You fell in the lake."

"You pushed me."

"No I didn't!"

Gary quickly lost patience and pushed Kevin under the water by the head. He was splashing around trying to wriggle free and Lee decided to cut in before Gary actually accidently drowned him.

"Hey! That's enough guys, quit it."

Gary let go of Kevin and climbed out of the lake, shaking the water out of his hair and making Mariah shriek and hold out her hands in front of her again. "Gary!" The big blader just laughed a little before turning to look at his captain.

"Right, we may as well head back now and grab some lunch," he said, much to Gary's delight.

"Aw, sweet, 'cause I'm starting!" Kevin piped up, climbing out of the lake and sweeping his wet hair out of his eyes. "I claim the dumplings!" he announced.

"No you don't!" Mariah said, shoving him back into the lake with a splash with a flourish, " _I_ claim the dumplings since _you_ ate them all last time!" She then began to run off down the path as Kevin climbed out of the lake and chased after her.

Lee shook his eyes at the pair with a faint glimmer of mirth in his eyes before turning to Gary and making his way down the path as well.

Kevin propped his chin up on his hand while looking down miserably at his bowl of rice, and huffed. Mariah beat him to the dumplings and Lee and Gary were chowing down on the stir fry, so he was left with just rice and a few spring rolls. They weren't even duck - just vegetable ones! Stupid team, ganging up on him because he was small. He turned his purple eyes longingly to Mariah's dumplings.

"Keep your eyes off my food, Kevin," she said, looking down at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Pft. You know, Mariah...it would probably be good for you if you let me have some of those."

"Oh, really," she said, rolling her eyes and turning to him. "And why's that?"

"Well, I was just thinking," he began with a sly look at his pink haired friend, "Now that you're like, with Rei and all, you'd wanna watch your weight." He spared a moment to appreciate the highly unamused look, before continuing. "And I would _hate_ for all those dumplings to go to your hips."

She swatted him with her hand sharply and bit back, "Whatever, Kevin. Just keep your eyes off my dumplings _and_ my hips."

Kevin cackled with laughter at the statement for a few moments, earning himself another swat. Then he said, "Would you share your hips and your _dumplings_ with Rei if he asked?"

He ducked as Mariah aimed a heavier blow towards his head, before scooting off his chair and sitting next to Lee on the other end of the table. He was rewarded with an elbow in the ribs for his crude teasing, but nothing more.

They were quiet for a few moments before Kevin, never one to sit in silence, started up another round of conversation. "So, who d'you reckon'll be showing up at the tournament, then? I mean, apart from the Bladebreakers. We all know they're going, since Mariah's been pining over Rei since he left," he ended with a smirk.

"T'ch, I have not been pining," she countered through narrowed eyes.

"Yes you have. I'm sure I saw you daydreaming about him yesterday. You were drooling and everythi - ouch!" He exclaimed as Mariah kicked him under the table and glared.

"Well, _I_ think that American team - the All Starz - will be going. You know, 'cause they like to be a part of everything." Mariah said, ignoring the little green haired annoyance.

"I hope so," Lee said, "they'll be good for competition."

"T'chh, they'll be good for a laugh, you mean. That pretty boy captain of theirs is always showing off," Kevin said, rolling his eyes.

"Oooh, I hope he puts on a show this time!" Mariah said with bright golden eyes, leaning forwards on the table. "That sky-diving stunt he pulled at the American regionals was so fun to watch. He really made an entrance."

"Ha! Don't let Rei hear you say that, he might get jealous."

"Ugh, shut up, Kevin!"

"Yes, Kevin, give it a break - it's getting old." Kevin mimicked his captain under his breath for a moment before muttering about how he was just sour that his friend had his hands on his baby sister. "What was that, Kevin?" the older teen growled threateningly.

"Nothin', nothing'. Geez," he huffed, turning back to his rice. Then he hurriedly ate the last of his spring rolls when he noticed that Gary was eyeing them up having finished his own meal.

"...D'you think the Demolition Boys will be there, Lee?" Mariah asked pensively after a few moments. Her chopsticks were held up in front of her, paused midway to her mouth as she stared out into nothingness.

"I doubt it," Lee replied after a few seconds. He then sat back and folded his arms. "I don't think Mr Dickenson would have invited them anyway, after what they did - _and_ what they would have done if Tyson hadn't beaten their captain in the final round."

"...Yeah." Mariah replied, still zoned out. She remembered the state Rei was in after that pale headed blader was finished with him. It was horrible - that anyone would even think about attacking the blader instead of the blade revolted her. Bryan. That was his name. Even if Mariah didn't see him again until the day she died it would be too soon. Or any of them, for that matter. They'd all done terrible things and intended to do even worse, she was sure. Tyson was a godsend for managing to pull off a win in the final rounds - he'd practically saved the world. Though, she'd never tell him that, because Rei told her the boy had an ego bigger than his appetite, which was pretty huge.

"But, even if they do turn up, we should remember that they weren't the masterminds of the plan and that they may well have all turned a new leaf by now. If they've changed their ways and truly regret their actions, I think I'd give them a second chance."

"What? Lee, whether they were behind the plans or not, they're all responsible for what they did." Mariah banged her hands on the table to emphasise her angered incredulity. "You know, things like the Holocaust would never have happened if people took responsibility for their actions instead of just blindly doing whatever they're told!"

Lee repressed a sigh as he looked up at his little sister. She was on her feet now, glaring at him. He knew the Russian bladers were a touchy subject for her, but he couldn't be blamed - she brought them up in the first place! "Mariah," he started hesitantly, "please don't blow things out of proportion."

"Out of proportion?!" Lee sighed and ran a hand over his eyes tiredly. She just repeated him. Repeating things meant that her temper had gotten the better of her and there was no reasoning with her when she was worked into a passion. "Lee, are you saying that trying to take over the world is no big deal?"

"No, I didn't -"

"And that Rei getting torn to shreds by that guy isn't that bad?"

"Mariah, will you just -"

"I thought you were supposed to be Rei's friend, Lee!"

"I am his friend!" he said, getting to his own feet and leaning forward on the table.

Mariah leaned back to get out of his face and narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeah? You've got a funny way of showing it." She then twisted around on the spot and stormed out of the room gesturing angrily and muttering things like 'second chance,' and 'out of his mind.' Her long pink hair was trailing behind after her. Soon it had disappeared around the doorframe and she was gone.

Kevin whistled to fill the awkward silence that now filled the room and Lee sat back down in his seat, running a tired hand through his jet black hair.

"So…" Kevin started, clearing his throat, "d'you think one of us should go after her?"

"...No. Just leave her, she'll cool off soon enough."

"She's still holding a pretty huge grudge against those guys in Russia, huh?"

"Yeah," Lee said shortly.

"I don't hold it against her. I mean, they did take like, everyone's bit beasts. And Rei _was_ torn up pretty bad. It wasn't like he just had a few scratches, he passed out and everything! Bryan put him in hospital for days! He needed stitches and a drip!"

"Yeah, I know and I'm not saying that we should just forget that. Rei's a close friend of mine, too, you know. As close as a brother," the dark haired captain said, folding his arms. "But… you heard the news that got out after that institute was closed down. I wouldn't wish what happened in the Abbey to anyone. We have no idea how that might have affected all the boys that grew up there."

Kevin chewed pensively on one of his fingernails for a moment before replying. "Yeah, I guess. But Mariah's got a point, you know. Everyone knows that stealing and killing and stuff is wrong, no one can excuse that."

"Unless they're brainwashed from childhood. Then they wouldn't know."

Kevin's eyes widened, "Dude, that's even worse! That'd make them even more dangerous, 'cause they really really wouldn't know right from wrong!"

Lee chuckled a little at Kevin's shocked expression, "I'm not saying that the Demolition Boys are like that, I'm just trying to look at things from a different angle. After we made things up with Rei, I realised what a hard position it is to be in when everyone's against you, refusing to overlook your mistakes and give you a second chance." He stared off into the distance for a moment, and then said, "You know when people ask you, like 'What would you like to say to a person who did something terrible, like murder', and you spend ages thinking about how you would call them up for what they've done and make them see things your way - I think the more appropriate thing to do would be to say nothing, and listen to them instead. I'm sure they'd have their story to tell."

Kevin was silent for a few moments as he stared up at his captain. "Okay, so who are you and what have you done with Lee? Since when have you been so calm and fair and understanding?"

Lee rolled his eyes before answering with a smirk, "Well, one of us on this team has to be."

"Pfft, too right. Mariah makes mountain bears look like baby kittens when she's in a temper. Although as far as bears go, Gary's pretty tame too," he said with a sly glance in their huge team mate's direction. But he wasn't there. "Hey, where'd Gary go?" He turned towards Lee with a confused look on his face. Who knew Gary could be so big yet so move so quietly? "Did you see him leave?"

Lee was just as perplexed, "No, I didn't even know he was gone."

"Hm," Kevin said, scratching his head, "...maybe he's gone to get more food?"

Lee shrugged and turned back to his stir fry and Kevin greedily eyed Mariah's left over dumplings for a few moments, before reaching over and taking them for himself.

Mariah sat in the little rock garden just outside their village. It was a beautiful little place, with cherry blossom trees and small wild shrubs planted in the sand. Instead of benches there were seats made out of chiseled rock, and one lone rope swing was tied up to one of the branches of the sturdiest looking tree. Mariah was perched on this swing and she was playing absentmindedly with a blossom in her hand. She was swinging rather limply on it, ignoring the petals that fell around her as she moved.

Hearing the sound of heavy footsteps approaching her, she said, "Go away, Lee. I'm not talking to you." Receiving no response, she turned around and said more forcefully, "I said, go away - oh, it's you. Sorry, Gary…"

Mariah turned her head meekly back to the floor as Gary sat down on a rock beside her. He was carrying a few prickly pears in a small wicker basket and he set it down on the sand before taking out a small knife. Before he started peel it, he looked up at Mariah and said, "Do you want one?"

Mariah offered him a small smile before saying, "No, thank you Gary."

He shrugged and returned to carefully peeling the pear. Then he smiled and said, "It's funny."

Mariah turned to him and said, "...what is?"

"Who was the first person that thought of eating a prickly pear?"

"I don't know... why?"

"'Cause they don't look good on the outside. They're hard and spiky and really don't look nice." He then looked meaningfully at Mariah before continuing, "but if you ignore all that, you are surprised by a really sweet treat. If you ignore its appearance, you are rewarded with something much better." He then looked down to the pear and continued peeling it, and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Then Mariah spoke.

"Oh... I know what you're trying to say."

Gary looked up at her. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're trying to say that the Demolition Boys are like those pears - really hard and dangerous on the outside, but probably nice once you look deeper - right?" Gary did nothing but smile faintly, knowing that she had gotten his point, and continued peeling his pear. She looked down at him and narrowed her eyes. "Well, I don't think I buy it."

She was sure she saw him smirk. "...I was talking about you, actually. You've got a horrible temper, but you're nice. Sometimes." he said.

Mariah raised her eyebrows, knowing he was just saying that. Everyone thought Gary was slow, but he wasn't. He just tended to keep his thoughts to himself. She pushed him playfully on the shoulder before saying, "Oh, really?" He did nothing but peel his pear, ever quiet.

She smiled contentedly. Stupid Gary with his prickly pears and surprising insight - whenever she or the other members of the team had issues, it was always Gary who tried to make them see sense with his covert little pearls of wisdom. When Rei left and they all raged a vendetta against him at the Asian tournament, it was Gary who managed to soften them all up enough for them to hear him out. And she was grateful for that. She hated fighting with Rei, but her stubbornness wouldn't let her forgive him for leaving.

And now, in spite of herself, she was already beginning to feel a lot less angry at Lee. She still didn't trust the Demolition Boys at all, of course, but as long as they kept well away from her and Rei she probably wouldn't spit poison at them if they did come to the tournament.

"You know... I think I'll have one of those after all," she said quietly. "Kevin's probably eating my dumplings by now, anyway."

Gary smiled and handed her the pear that he'd just that minute finished peeling before carefully picking up another one from the basket and peeling it for himself.

* * *

"I can't believe he hasn't even showed up yet."

"Why not? I can - he does it all the time."

"I don't care, this is getting ridiculous. He was supposed to be here an hour ago!" Emily ceased her pacing, folded her arms and all but stomped her foot on the ground in frustration as she turned to face her captain. They were in the tiny lounge area of the training room, where there were but a few armchairs, a single couch, and a vending machine. She was uncharacteristically pissed off, while Michael was just lounging lazily in one of the armchairs, not really paying her too much attention. "Aren't you even the least bit concerned?"

The cocky blonde just leaned back in the navy-blue suede (and _very_ comfortable) armchair he was sitting in. He threw his arms comfortably behind his head, before crossing his legs and continuing disinterestedly, "Nah."

"Michael!" the petite bespectacled girl bit, "it's June already. We've got less than three weeks now before we fly over to Colorado, and Rick hasn't even attempted to make use of the engine gear. If he doesn't get his act together he's going to compromise all of us in the tournament, and I am not having my reputation ruined because that idiot doesn't even try and make an effort!" She had commenced pacing the room again and her fists were balled up at her sides. Being the level headed scientist of the team, Emily rarely let her anger get the better of her. However, Michael noted that today she was in full-on rage mode.

Michael rolled his eyes lazily. "Em, calm down."

"Calm dow -?"

"Yes, calm down."

Emily huffed out a long suppressed sigh and held her captain's eyes with a skeptical glare. "And why should I be calm?" It was easy for him to say now, she thought. He was ever the laid back, cocky captain he used to be whenever Rick wasn't around, but the minute the bulky blader came within twenty meters of him he was seething and spitting poison faster than Eddy's Trypio. Calm down. Pfft.

"Because, it's no big deal, Em. If he wants to be a jackass, then he doesn't blade in the tournament at all. I don't say things I don't mean."

"You always say things you don't mean, Michael."

"Tch," Michael rolled his eyes, "Well, I meant that! Geez."

"You know Judy won't just let you bench him for the whole tournament."

"Yes, she will. She's just as competitive as we are, and she's not gonna put him in the line-ups if it'll risk us winning the tournament."

"Emily!" The petite ginger turned her head towards the sound of Judy's voice across the room. She and Eddy were on the other side of the All Starz personal high-tech training room. She was watching over Eddy as he sent his Trypio blade around the specialized agility course. They were trying to increase his speed without compromising too heavily on weight and strength. "Come over here, I need you to run a scan on Eddy's blade, see if there's been any improvement on his technique."

"Sure, Judy," she said, and quickly paced over to the main computer.

"Eddy," she said, almost barking, "keep it tight at the corners. Loose turns will only become your own disadvantage in the bey-stadium."

Michael snickered a little from his seat at the corner. She was in intense coach-mode today, and had been getting increasingly more so as the tournament crept nearer. That meant that they were being put through the ringer more than he'd like. However, it also meant that Rick was sure to get one hell of an ear bashing when he decided to turn up. If there was one thing Michael liked more then seeing other people getting lectured by Judy, it was seeing _Rick_ getting lectured by Judy.

Speaking of Rick, Michael turned his head around to the side as he heard the glass training room doors open and spotted the ivory-haired blader himself amble lazily through them, swinging his bulky arms like some prehistoric caveman. Their eyes caught for a moment and they proceeded to give each other their now-customary greeting glare, before both breaking off at the same moment, sucking their teeth disrespectfully.

"Ah, there you are Rick. Nice of you to join us." Michael smirked. Judy's voice may have sounded sweet, but there was no disguising the ice in it. "Emily, you can wrap things up with Eddy, right?" She then strode over to Rick by the doors, clipboard in hand, not bothering to wait for a response.

Michael sneakily got up off the armchair he was sprawled in and went to sit on the couch instead. It was turned towards the wall and away from the doors, so he figured that if he slouched down really low in it, he could eavesdrop on the lecture that was sure to follow without Judy ever knowing. He then took of his cap as an added precaution - just in case it would give him away by popping up over the backrest. He tuned in attentively as he heard Judy's voice.

"Rick," she started as she neared him. "Why do you insist on getting under everyone's skin like this - and don't even try and me ask 'like what' because you know very well like what." She snapped, presumably in response to Rick trying to open his mouth and utter some lame-ass response. Michael heard her let out a long sigh before continuing, "Look. I know you don't agree with everything we do and everything we stand for in this facility, but I'll tell you now, I don't agree with you and what you're doing either. Now I don't know your reasons for being here, and I'm not going to pry into them either, but out of all the applicants we received for Steve's replacement, you impressed me the most - not only because of your skill but by how much you _wanted_ it too - and that's the only reason you're still here. So listen up because I'm only saying this once. The All Starz are a _team_. We all have our different strengths and approaches to blading, but none of us is any more or any less needed than another. But if you don't brush that chip off your shoulder and start making an effort, I promise you, I won't be as generous as Michael. I won't stand for you being benched for this tournament - you'll be kicked off the team entirely, and another replacement will be found. We don't need dead weight in the All Starz. Got it?"

Michael snickered. He sure hoped Rick didn't get it, if Judy was serious about kicking him off the team. The day would never be too soon to see the back of that idiot.

"...Sure, whatever."

"I think the response I'm looking for is, 'Yes, Coach Judy.'"

There was a silence in which Michael greatly anticipated the moment Judy told that stubborn dick to get out. But then he heard a reluctantly muttered, "...Yes. Coach Judy." Damnit. Oh well, perhaps tomorrow.

"Good. Now, Michael." Oh, shit. Michael stiffened and stayed exactly where he was sitting. Or rather, lying. He didn't want to make any sudden moves and give himself away. "Michael, get up."

The blonde groaned and braced himself, before twisting around and poking his head over the top of the sofa, before asking lamely, "Yes, coach?"

"Did you enjoy the show?" There was an awkward moment in which Michael couldn't decide between trying to deny that he'd heard anything and was actually sleeping, or admitting that he'd heard everything and did find it all very enjoyable. However, he didn't want Judy to get pissed with him, too, so he just settled with a, "Um, no, not really."

"Good. Well, now that Rick has arrived, we can finally put a real start to our training today. Emily, Eddy," she said, seeing the pair walking up to her, having rounded things up, "you two come up to the observation room with me. Emily, while we're there you can give Eddy the run down on what you think he needs to do to make sure he blades at optimum speed and strength, okay?"

"Yes, Judy."

"Michael and Rick, Dish 2, if you will. You're up first." She then pinched the bridge of her nose as the two bladers protested. "I don't want to hear it guys." She leveled each of them with a steady glare before continuing. "You're not kindergartners. So you don't like each other - get over it. Whatever issues the two of you have, I want them dealt with over the bey-dish, now. And after today, I don't want to hear another word of it. Right? That goes for all of you." She said, glancing over to Emily and Eddy as well.

"Yes, Coach Judy," they all mumbled in unison.

"Great. Now, lets get moving."

She, Emily and Eddy left the room, while Michael watched through the glass doors as they began to mount the stairs leading up to the observation room above. The blonde, who had now gotten up off the couch, walked around it and leaned his weight against the back of it, surveying Rick with sour blue-green eyes and folded arms.

"What?" Rick spat, not liking the way that pretty-boy captain was looking at him.

"...What are you doing here?"

"Tch, we're in the training room, ain't we? What'd'ya think I'm doin' here, genius?"

Michael rolled his eyes, already too used to his pathetic 'comebacks' to bother countering. "I mean, what are you doing _here._ In this facility, blading for this tournament, when you're a punk ass street-blader, not an athlete."

"That ain't none of your business."

"I'm your captain, I'm making it my business." Michael said, rearing up and balling his fists at his sides.

"Heh, what're you gonna do, try and hit me? I wouldn't risk it, without your little buddies to back you up."

Michael chewed his lip angrily. He knew in a fight he wouldn't have anything on the bigger blader, who was all muscle and no brain, but that didn't make him any less tempted to lay one on this guy who was so insistent on getting on his nerve. "Just what is your problem, dude? What do you want?"

"Michael. Rick." Judy's voice said over the intercom. "I said I want you over at Dish 2. I will not repeat myself again."

Both rolled their eyes and glared at each other for a moment more before making their way over to the dish, Rick swaggering lazily and Michael dragging his feet and cussing. Michael stormed his way up the few stairs leading to the bey-dish, and faced Rick with ire in his eyes. It was returned duly.

"Stop glaring at each other and release your beyblades," Judy said down at them.

Michael, still trying to gain full control of the engine gear the All Stars were learning to use, pulled out a standard launcher and readied his blade. Rick did the same and they both took their launching stances.

"You look worried, Parker." Rick goaded. "You should be."

"Oh, I am. Worried about the mess poor Emily's gonna have to work with when I'm finished with your blade."

Rick scoffed. "That's a pretty big-boy thing to say for someone who relies so much on their gadgets."

"Tch," Michael rolled his eyes, not bothering to counter his trash talk any further. He just wanted to hurry up and wipe the floor with him. "Three," he called, initiating the match, "Two. One -"

"Let it rip!"

The two wasted no time in making their blades collide, orange meeting dull brown, in fierce battle. Michael preferred a full-throttle approach to battle and adapted his blade with the first-clutch engine gear, which kicked in almost as soon as he'd launched. Even though this should've given him an edge, however, Michael was frustrated to see that he didn't have that much of an advantage over his bulky opponent. "Trygle, attack!" He called, and his blade pushed forwards, hitting Ricks blade with much more vehemence.

"Y'call that an attack? I barely even felt it. Rock Bison!"

The dull brown blade responded and started pushing against Michael's blade, forcing it backwards and towards the end of the dish. Michael narrowed his eyes in frustration as Rick smirked. Hell was he about to let this street punk get the better of him. With one more shout to his blade, Michael managed to pull his blade away from Rick's heavy onslaught and put a little distance between them before going in for the kill once again.

Tactics and strategies were thrown out the window, and both bladers were just relying on brute force to push the other out of the bey-dish. It wasn't long before the match was over, each blade being thrown out of the dish at different angles. Michael glared down at the side of the dish where Trygle was lying, rocking ever so slightly on the spot, and then glared at Rick, not at all happy with the result.

"Michael, Rick, pick up your beyblades, and start again. That was awful - I didn't see any thought or strategy in that match. This time, get your heads in the game."

"Ugh, Judy!" Michael said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Can't we do this another ti -"

"Now, Michael!"

With much protest, the two picked their blades up off the floor and, grumbling spitefully, began a second match.

It was dark, and there was a chill in the air that was uncommon for summer in New York. Grumbling to himself, Michael shoved his hands into the pockets of his baseball jacket and rounded the corner of the sidewalk. After many repeated matches with Rick this afternoon, some won, some lost - all of them incredibly pointless - Judy eventually got sick of them and decided to call it a day. As soon as he was free, Michael took off on his own and went downtown to catch the end of the Yankee's game. They lost, and Michael proceeded to walk the streets, sulking and grumbling about his luck.

Not paying much attention to where he was going, it was a while before he noticed he'd walked into the not-so-nice part of town. Realizing his mistake, he was about to turn on his heel and make his way back, until he heard the sounds of an argument down the alley of a nearby bar. Soon, the raised voices stopped and were replaced by the sounds of yells and a fight. Before even taking a moment to think about how stupid he was, Michael found himself running towards the alley, not entirely sure what he was planning on doing but feeling like he really _should_ do something regardless.

"Oi! Back off!" he shouted into the dimly lit alley. There he saw three men. One bulky guy was holding another huge guy back by the arms while a third, slightly smaller guy was punching him in the gut. At the sound of Michael's intrusion, however, they stopped, and the bigger guy shoved whoever they were beating on roughly towards the wall and sauntered aggressively towards Michael. Oh boy, he was in the shits now. Putting on his ever-cocky demeanor, Michael squared up to the tall dark haired guy as he came to a stop before him and shoved the blonde backwards by the shoulder.

"Why don't _you_ back off? This ain't none of your business, kid."

"Asshole, I've just made it my business. Leave him alone."

"I don't think I like the way you're talkin' to me."

"I don't think I like your face -"

"Parker? The fuck are you doing here?"

Michael blinked, and stared past the burly thug in front of him. There he saw the second guy, leaning his weight up the wall he was shoved against, his white hair gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Recognition dawned in his blue-green eyes. "Rick? The fuck, dude?"

The two thugs guffawed at the exchange and the smaller of the two said mockingly, "Hey Rick, is this your little friend come to the rescue?"

"Tchh," Michael said instinctively, "he's no friend of mine."

"Oh, well that's good," said the bigger guy in front of him, giving him another shove on the shoulder. "You can just trot the fuck off then and leave us to it. Save your pretty face from a beating, eh?"

He turned his back dismissively on the blonde who was still looking at Rick with troubled eyes. He hated the dick, but could he just leave him here, knowing that he was likely going to get the shit kicked out of him the minute he left? Not likely.

"Sorry guys. 'Fraid I can't do that," Michael said in a low voice.

The taller guy snickered. "Wrong choice."

* * *

 **A/N:** Erm, so apparently two weeks or so have past since my last update? I think? Totally unintentional, sorry guys! It's been the last two weeks of school for me and I've been so busy writing reports and grading papers and planning end-of-year activities that the time has literally flown by without my noticing!

Anyway, here's a chapter for you. Another one on Sunday to make up for my absence. Sorry!


	9. Moving On

**Chapter Eight: Moving On**

"Wrong choice."

The street thug turned and began to move towards Michael, balling his hands. The blonde braced himself for a fight but before he could think to move the dark haired brute was tackled to the ground by a light haired brute who had, to his utter disbelief, jumped on him and saved Michael from what would have been one hell of a right hook.

"Parker, go the fuck home!" he grunted, shoving his opponent to the ground and trying to regain his footing while simultaneously aiming a kick.

Michael tore his eyes off Rick in time to see the smaller of the thugs prepare to leap onto Rick. Instinct kicking in, Michael tackled him to the ground and in seconds an all out brawl had erupted between the four. Michael was no brawler, but he wasn't a pushover – his pride wasn't going to let him let these thugs get the better of him. He really wasn't able to dodge or block any of the punches this no-good thug was throwing at him, and by the trickle of warmth down his chin he was sure that last one split his lip, but he sure as hell managed to get some good punches in, and savored the feel of his knuckles meeting this bastard's nose with a crunch.

"Hey! Ladies!" someone shouted into the alley. The scuffle stopped as light spilled into the alley from an adjacent doorway. Standing there were three burly men, one of them presumably the owner of the bar they were fighting next to, and another with absolutely massive arms. Michael wondered vaguely how he got through the doorway at all. Perhaps he shuffled through sideways like a crab. "Are you gonna clear off on your own or will I have to call 911?" the man in the middle drawled. Michael found himself being pushed roughly backwards as the two thugs they were fighting made to leave the alley – but not before issuing hard glares towards the men in the doorway and giving Rick a hushed assurance that they'd see him soon. "Hey, you too," the middle guy said gruffly towards Michael and Rick. "Off my property. And I don't want you bringing your trouble here again, you hear me?"

Muttering to himself, Rick left the alley without so much as a glance in his captain's direction. Michael, wanting to get himself back to the apartment and cleaned up, picked his cap up off the floor which must've fallen in the scuffle, placed it back on his head and went off after him. However, as soon as he rounded the corner, he found himself face to face with Rick's huge shoulders, walked straight into them, and found himself stumbling backwards from the impact.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" He started, turning around to glare down at the smaller blader.

"What?" Michael said, bristling. He'd just saved the guy he hated from what was sure to be a beating and this was the thanks he got? What a bastard. "Dude, why are you such a dick? You'd be a heap of mess on the floor right now if I hadn't stepped in!"

"T'chh, don't make me laugh! You don't know nothin' about it, about lookin' after yourself. I could'a handled those guys. I always do."

"Oh, right. 'Cause it really looked that way where I was standing." Michael folded his arms as he mocked. He leaned tiredly against the wall, took off his cap and lazily ran his fingers through his hair. He was tired, aching, and his left temple felt swollen and tender.

Rick looked at Michael skeptically. "Your lip's bleeding," he stated.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Your face is bleeding," he countered. Which, in fairness, it was. There was a small tear in his left eyebrow that was trickling some blood, and another dull red graze just below it from where his head hit the wall. There was a second trickle of blood coming from somewhere in his hairline, too.

There was a silence as Rick scoffed under his breath and turned around to lean on the wall too, a couple of feet away from Michael. Sighing under his breath, he said quietly, "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That."

" _What?"_

Rick made an exasperated noise. "Help me!" he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

There was another silence in which Michael gave no answer. He wasn't quite sure what to say. Why did he help Rick? God knows he's wanted to punch the dick's face in ever since he opened his mouth. Then he stumbles across two guys doing the job for him, and he starts a fight with them. He should've been thanking them. Or helping them.

No, when he thought about it now, even going back to his thoughts then, the thought of ganging up on anyone like that was wrong. That was it. It wasn't because he fancied playing the hero. It was just the principle of it. Two guys beating on one was just _wrong,_ regardless of whether he knew them or not _._

"Cause." Michael stated, glancing sideways at Rick. "We're a team," he said quietly. Rick then met his eye, and he continued. "A team look out for each other."

Rick snorted and looked away, and there was a moment of awkward silence where both males avoided eye contact. Then the bulky white haired blader pushed himself off the wall. "Whatever," he muttered and Michael watched as he turned around and made to leave. However, before he'd even taken a whole step, he stopped where he stood. Then, he turned around and gruffly held out a hand.

Michael looked down at it, his sore body and tired brain not understanding. "...what?"

Rick rolled his eyes, before looking down condescendingly at Michael. "Truce?"

Michael smirked. "Is this supposed to be you thanking me for saving your ass?"

"Just shake on it so I can get the hell away from your face – it's pissing me off."

"...Alright, truce." Michael shook on it and grinned – and then immediately regretted doing so when the action tugged on the split in his lip.

"Not a word of this to anyone, hear? Not even your little team."

"A word of what?" Michael asked.

Rick had nothing to worry about. As much as Michael would've liked to brag about saving the bigger blader's ass tonight, he was too tired to deal with the aggro between them anymore. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

* * *

Tala smirked as he watched the ice and snow that whipped around about him. Squinting his eyes a little against the wind, he could just about see a purple beyblade being buffeted left and right by what seemed to be an invisible force. Of course, Tala knew there was no such force. If he looked close enough, he could almost make out the shape of his own silver-white beyblade bolting past as it struck his opponent from side to side. He didn't need to look close though, it was enough for him to feel the motions of his blade as it sliced through the ice and snow. He could quite easily just close his eyes, battle blind, and still hold the advantage.

"Had enough, Bry?" he called, smirking. Every now and then, Tala's eyes could just make out the purple-grey of Bryan's hair through the breaks in the thick white blizzard he was creating.

"Don't flatter yourself, Tala," he heard Bryan call back, in what sounded like an attempted arrogant grow through teeth gritted with cold. "I hear they have worse snowstorms than this in Peru!"

Tala laughed at Bryan's attempt at off-handedness, but he was sure the sound couldn't reach his burly team mate through the howling winds. Truth was, here on this frozen lake that they were practicing on, it was freezing – even _he_ was cold, something Tala didn't feel all too often thanks to his bit beast, Wolborg. Russia was experiencing uncommonly low temperatures this summer – it was hardly higher than five degrees centigrade today. The lakes and rivers remained frozen, unable to gather enough temperature during the cold days to thaw out. The ground was still smothered in a blanket of white from last week's snowfall. Tala was in his element.

"Really, Bryan?" he grinned, knowing his pale haired friend only mocked to hide the fact that right now he was losing this battle. "Well, if you wanted to see a little more, all you had to do was ask. Wolborg," he shouted, stretching his hand out towards the battle, "Ice Blizzard!"

The winds and the snow that whipped around the battle and the bladers began to pick up speed, and the snow crystals hardened to form small blades of ice. Then, they began to draw back from the bladers and concentrate around the battle, morphing into a thick, icy tornado around the beyblades as they struck each other.

With the icy winds whirling only around a certain point, Tala could now see his team mate clearly, and he was _not_ happy. Bryan's blading style was strictly offensive. His blade was built to enhance speed and power above all else, and so Tala compensated for this by playing with a full-throttle offense himself, forcing Bryan into a corner with no room to maneuver or counter-attack. A bird can't fly with its wings clipped, no matter how mighty it is.

"You look a little worried, Bryan." Tala mocked, his lips turning up at the corners smugly. "Understandable, of course, since you're losing this battle." It might only be a practice match, but that didn't mean anything. As a rule, the Demolition Boys pulled no punches, whether they were facing friend or foe, and today he was fighting Bryan just as hard as he'd fight Kai or Tyson or anyone else for that matter.

"Shut up, Tala," Bryan scowled, although Tala thought he saw the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm just thinking on what to do next."

"Oh? And does anything good come to mind?" Tala replied, slyly. He was interested to see what sort of move Bryan would try and pull, but of course, it would be in vain. Wolborg had him trapped right where he wanted him.

Bryan's smirk widened into a grin, flashing his teeth. "Only this. Falborg," he roared over the match, "counter it!"

Bryan's blade emitted a strong, glowing light, and suddenly the area surrounding the bladers became a whole lot windier. Tala tried to steady his stance as the rising winds almost caused him to lose his footing on the ice. His fiery red hair lashed about his face, obscuring his view. Bryan was quickly whipping up a tornado around the battle from the outside, and in a similar fashion began to concentrate the winds and draw them inwards towards the blades. Before long, Bryan's razor blade tornado had merged with Tala's icy one in the centre, and the ice blizzard was beginning to slow and lose its power.

Then Tala realized what Bryan was doing.

"A counter-spin attack," he stated, half to himself. "Risky move, Bryan, on this ice, but clever," he called across the battle. The spiraling force of both tornadoes pushing down on the ice might have been enough to break it, sending them both into the arctic depths. It was a very risky move. He grinned as he thought about it – his battles with Bryan were never anything less than interesting.

"Obviously," Bryan replied, with a competitive light in his eyes now that he was back in the game. "You keep forgetting I'm not all brawn, Tala."

"No, these days you're all mouth too, apparently."

"Oh, wait. Are we talking about you now?" Bryan snarked.

Tala laughed. By now his blizzard had abated, the only hint of it ever having existed being the circular traces of snow and ice that spiraled outwards from the centre of the battle. The sharp winds coming from Bryan's blade were also dying down and now both the blades and the bladers on the centre of the ice lake could be seen quite clearly. Their eyes met for a split second, and then narrowed in competition. Tala called Wolborg back to his side, and Bryan followed suit.

"So," Bryan called with a small grin, "an all-out attack to see who's stronger?"

"Why not?" Tala replied, also grinning. "Wolborg, Novae Rogue!"

"Falborg, Blitz Bomb!"

Tala's silver-white blade pushed forwards in a surge of speed and ice, while Bryan's purple blade launched itself upwards with razor blade winds, before making a dive for Tala's. Tala watched as the two blades collided on the ice, pushing and grinding, trying to wear the opponent down. Then Tala froze as the ground beneath his feet shook, and a deep, shuddering noise echoed around him. His sharp turquoise eyes snapped up to meet Bryan's pale grey ones.

The ice had cracked.

Bryan cussed and immediately called Falborg away from the battle, holding up his hand to catch his blade as it returned. Tala followed suit and the two quickly, but very carefully, proceeded to make their way off the lake and back to solid ground. He might not feel the cold so much as others, but, frankly, he had enough knowledge of ice-cold water not to want to experience it a second time.

After clearing the lake, Tala and Bryan made their way through the wall of trees, back through the school grounds which bordered it and made their way onto the street. Finding a bench on the sidewalk, Tala brushed the snow off his coat and sat down. He then watched with some amusement as Bryan carried on walking a few paces, turned to the side to say something, and quickly turned further around with a perplexed expression on his face when he noticed that Tala was no longer by his side. Rolling his eyes when he saw him sat on the bench, Bryan hitched the collar of his black rebel jacket a little further up, and threw himself down on the bench beside Tala.

"Just for the record, that match was mine." Tala said nonchalantly, shoving his hands inside his coat pockets glancing sideways at Bryan.

"Yeah?" He smirked irritatedly. "And how do you decide that?"

"Easy," the redhead shrugged. "You pulled out first. Match goes to me."

Bryan retaliated by giving him a rough punch on the shoulder, which Tala couldn't be bothered to return since his hands were so comfortably warm inside his pockets. "Whatever. Next time I'll just keep going and let you fall into the lake. Again," Bryan added, as an afterthought.

Tala repressed a slight shiver at the memory. It was an accident during training one day while back in the Abbey – a cold, and very painful accident. He was about eleven, and it took him two weeks to recover enough from the pneumonia before resuming his training. Bryan was out of commission for an even longer time than that after receiving his harshest beating to date for endangering the life of Boris' star pupil. If he remembered correctly, Bryan could hardly stand for any significant length of time for the broken ribs.

Tala heard the click of a lighter, and looked to the side to see Bryan holding a cigarette between his lips, trying to light it with one hand and shield it from the wind with the other. After many failed attempts to light the cigarette in these arctic conditions, he finally succeeded, and gratefully took a long drag. Tala smirked. "What happened to quitting, then?" he asked, looking across the street and smirking as he watched a couple of elementary school children sneakily throwing snowballs at passers-by and then ducking behind the school wall, sniggering.

When he came to visit over the Christmas period, Bryan arrogantly declared that smoking was getting too expensive, that he wasn't really addicted anyway, and fully intended to give it up. Yet Bryan with a cigarette in hand was such a familiar sight that, over the two months since he came to Moscow, Tala had completely forgotten his earlier intentions to break the habit until now.

Bryan's lips twitched at the corners. "Changed my mind," he said, nonchalantly puffing out a breath of smoke. "Earned a raise at work and didn't see the need to anymore."

Tala smirked and shook his head, his bangs swaying a little with the motion. If anyone on their team had an addictive personality, it was Bryan. He never simply liked things, or enjoyed them – he wanted and needed them to the point of addiction, sometimes even obsession, Tala hedged in his mind. These days, you could almost set the clock by when Bryan took a smoke. He guessed it was probably around five in the afternoon. With a small smirk, he lifted his cell phone out of his pocket and, sure enough, the digital display confirmed that it was 5:08pm.

He remembered when he first met the shy, troubled, pale haired boy in the Abbey. Beneath the rough attitude the younger Bryan shrugged around him, Tala recalled a timid individual who simply learned to protect himself through intimidation – a trait which he still carried through to today. As a rule, he never talked about himself and never let anyone get close to him. He wanted strength and only strength – it was his one interest and his single goal when he came to the Abbey, and Boris knew all to well how to exploit that to his own advantage.

More recently, though, Bryan had laid his issues aside somewhat and now music and smoking were his vices. Girls too, probably, Tala thought slyly. He still maintained a nasty attitude toward authority figures, rarely trusted anyone, was stubborn to a fault and usually completely unable to control his angry outbursts. Most people tended to stay away from him, and with good reason, too. However, he was redeemed by the fact that once you'd earned his trust and he considered you worthy enough to call a friend, he was unfalteringly loyal. And then, you could trust him with anything. You could trust Bryan with your life.

Tala himself was raised in the Abbey from a very young age and had absolutely no memory of his life before then. It wasn't until Boris was exposed and the Abbey fell that he realized he might even have _had_ a life outside the Abbey. He saw orphans walk through those heavy wooden doors and into servitude all the time, but he always saw himself, inherently, as a part of those cold stone walls. That isn't to say that he liked life there – he loathed it. He loathed Boris and his insatiable lust for power and greed for recognition, he loathed his slimy words and bloodstained hands. He would have left, would have resisted and rebelled and ran away but the Abbey was all he knew. It was the only life he knew existed for him.

So he stayed, and did everything that was expected of him to a degree of excellence that far surpassed his years. He performed his blading drills to perfection and oversaw the younger recruits as they performed theirs. He was ruthless and unforgiving to his opponents. Victory was life, defeat to his enemies. He learned how to dismantle and shoot a gun, how to hit a target between the eyes at twenty meters. He knew a variety of ways to kill a person without flinching, without thinking, without even leaving a trace. He knew how to disarm the enemy, how to incapacitate them, how to hide all evidence that he had ever been anywhere at all. He learned several close-combat fighting techniques, became fluent in English, German, Italian, Arabic, Syrian and Korean. Five minutes in a room with someone was plenty of time for him to assess enough information about them, from their appearance, body language, and manner of speech, to build up a mental profile on them. He could write computer programmes and hack into some of the most sophisticated government databases known to man. But most of all – he knew how to take his orders, without question and without hesitation. He was the perfect soldier.

Yet all the while, a gnawing curiosity for the outside world burned within him.

Then came the fateful day at the tournament when he stood across the arena from Tyson Kinomiya, and lost. He remembered very few of the details – the computer chip Boris placed inside his brain just days before had overloaded his senses and made it difficult for him to separate fiction from reality, wrong from right, Boris' will from his own. The migraine he'd suffered was excruciating. And Tyson, the rookie blader from Japan, had somehow managed, against all the odds, to pull off a win and save the world.

The Abbey fell, and Tala was thrown into a world that he didn't understand. It was so ordinary, so normal, and he was outside of his comfort zone. For Bryan, the Abbey was an escape from his life at home so he didn't have many of the of the problems that the other Abbey boys encountered with adapting to their new lives. But for Tala, the Abbey was his entire world. He knew nothing else. So when he was greeted by a woman who looked so much like him, and a man whose eyes were exactly the same penetrating shade of blue as his, and they threw their arms around him and offered him a home and a future and more love than he could even comprehend, he recoiled. He didn't know how to react. He didn't know what they wanted from him. To look after him? He could look after himself, thank you very much, and was insulted that anyone would dare think otherwise.

He gave them both a terribly hard time. He was cold, unfeeling and inconsiderate. He pushed them away and turned a blind eye to his mother's tears because he just didn't know what else to do. He wasn't trained for any of this. He was trained to be a soldier. He had no idea how to be a son.

Eventually, the shock of this new life began to fade, and he felt himself tiring of the arguments and the guilty knot he felt at the pit of his stomach whenever he heard his mother cry. He started to open up to his parents and, one step at a time, gradually allowed them to treat him like the son they loved. The son they'd thought lost forever. He remembered when, one day, curiosity got the better of him, and before he'd know what he was saying he'd spontaneously just asked his mother if he could go grocery shopping with her. She pushed the cart as he trailed behind her with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the shelves packed full with things he'd never seen before. He saw the looks on people's faces as they saw his fiery red hair that matched his mother's, and read their expressions that said, 'well, there's another one who's been dragged off the sofa against his will to help carry the heavy shopping for a change.' She took him out for coffee afterwards, and they talked and smiled and people-watched, making small jokes about some of the people who walked by. It was one of the most surreal experiences of his life.

Tala's startlingly sharp blue eyes vacantly stared off into the distance, with thoughts of how strange their lives were now compared to then. Everything was so dramatically ordinary, so far removed from the life he grew up with – sometimes he even had the vague feeling that he was waking up with someone else's life, because this new one was too different and too...nice, to be his.

The bench shuddered slightly as Bryan tried to restrain a shiver against the cold, pulling Tala out of his mind and into the street again. "Fuck this weather," Bryan spat. "Tala, what are we even doing here?"

"In Moscow?" Tala asked, knowing that that wasn't his team mate's question. He just enjoyed to annoy his short tempered friend.

"No. On this fucking bench."

"Thinking," Tala stated.

"Hn. Right," Bryan grunted, giving his cigarette a lazy flick to remove the build up of ash before bringing it to his lips again, "you always did think too much."

"And you never did think at all," Tala countered, slyly.

Bryan smirked and shook his head, looking into the distance. "I think," he stated quietly, a little more to himself than to Tala.

The two sat in silence for a moment, and Tala continued to watch the kids playing their pranks across the street, laughing quietly to himself when they were caught and scolded by one of the teachers leaving the building. "It's funny, wouldn't you say, Bry?"

"What is?"

"This," Tala said, lazily gesturing around with one hand. "Everything." Then he sighed when Bryan shot him a look that clearly said he didn't catch his meaning. "It's all so, normal!"

Bryan just raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Tala sighed again. "Two years ago, we were still in the Abbey, Bryan. We weren't anything but tools, being trained to fight in a war we didn't even fully understand. It wasn't life, it was a battle ground – a daily fight to just keep treading water and keep your head above the waves. We were soldiers and never did anything outside of our orders unless we had something to gain from it. And now look at us!" he said loudly, gesturing outwards with his hands, "We're sitting on a park bench in the freezing cold, doing absolutely nothing but wasting time with idle talk, just because we can. We're in high school, meeting people and skipping classes like everyone else our age. I've got a mom who makes my bed and folds all my clothes, and always has breakfast ready in the morning. You're smoking like a chimney, swearing like a sailor and playing the guitar like a pro. I mean, you've already played some small-time gigs! Spencer's at university, and Ian spends his spare time pulling pranks on the school and annihilating other kids on the Xbox. And in three days time, we're all flying out to take part in a tournament for absolutely no reason other than because we feel like it. Bryan, we're fucking normal." Tala finished, his hands in the air to emphasise the point.

"Nice evaluation, Tal. Very deep," Bryan snarked at his captain's apparently random philosophical outburst, and Tala just rolled his eyes dismissively.

"You don't find it weird? Look, we're so normal we could even sit here and talk about girls," he stated, as if that were the most weirdly normal thing out of everything. After all, there were no girls in the Abbey, and for the past nearly two years they had been mingling with the fairer sex on a regular basis in all throes of the hormonal teenage years. Tala had to admit, from the dank concrete walls and stoney faces of the Abbey, it was change in scenery he found all too welcoming. "Let's talk about girls, Bryan," he said decidedly, after a few moments.

Bryan did nothing but play with the cigarette between his fingers while smiling wryly and shaking his head in amusement. "Alright," he said eventually. "They're too much fucking effort," he stated bluntly, "unless they're drunk. Then they're even more, or less, depending on how lucky you are that night."

Tala snickered, feeling that there was a very amusing Bryan-rant on its way. "Explain," he said simply with a wave of the hand, echoing the pale haired teens earlier request.

Sharp grey eyes rolled as Bryan picked up where he left off. "They're just...too much effort! You're nice to a girl, and she automatically assumes you just wanna get into her pants. You're mean, and she writes you off as a dick. You get involved with one and then it's even worse! She wants to spend the night _in_ with you, then she wants you to take her _out_ the next, she's always stealing your clothes when I'm sure she has fucking plenty of her own," he ranted, complete with angry hand gestures and unamused facial expression. But that was nothing unusual, Bryan's face was mostly unamused anyway. "At least when they're drunk you can just have a bit of fun with them and it's forgotten the next day – unless she's so drunk she breaks her ankle on the sidewalk. Then you have to spend the night in A &E with her explaining to the doctors why you're both so intoxicated in the first place when you're underage and should know better. It's all just fucking effort," he sighed.

By the end of this, Tala was laughing outright. Bryan was an emotional guy. Not in the way that other people are emotional, but in the way that when he felt something, he felt it hard. It just so happened that Bryan's feelings ranged from being irritated to downright furious, and rarely anything else besides. Either he felt like putting you in hospital, or he didn't. And that was all. "You know why you have it so hard, Bry?" Tala said, as though he was about to offer a piece of sage advice.

"Why?" Bryan grunted, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Tala said, snickering, "They do say that if you 'treat 'em mean, you keep 'em keen.' Clearly this seems to be the case with you."

"T'chh, it's more a case of 'treat them mean and hope they piss the fuck off,' but whatever," he said, flicking a little ash off the end of his cigarette again.

"It's gotta be nice, though" Tala continued after a while, "going to an American high school. All those short skirts and low cut-tops in summer. Must piss you off to be over here in the snow in June and missing all of that," he said, smirking as he saw a girl walk past them, all bundled up and completely shapeless.

Bryan just raised his eyebrows in agreement and took another drag on his cigarette. "I guess. Cheerleaders are fucking annoying, though."

"They're fucking hot, though, too."

"Hn, if you like that kind of thing," Bryan said dismissively.

"What, and you don't?" Tala asked, skeptically, to which he all he received in return was an offhand roll of the eyes. "Come on, all joking and ranting aside, we're in high school. How many conquests have you had?" he asked wryly.

"What? Cheerleaders or just girls in general?" Bryan said, his pale grey eyes glinting with amusement.

"Both," Tala replied simply.

Bryan just looked into the sky as he blew out a puff of smoke. "More than I can count on one hand," he said nonchalantly.

"More than you can count on two?"

Bryan's smirk was a little too wide as he shook his head again in amusement and flicked his cigarette stub to the ground. When he folded his arms and lifted his clear grey eyes to meet Tala's, the pair were laughing.

"You filthy man whore," Tala joked, pushing his crimson bangs backward with one hand.

Bryan roughly shoved him to the side in retaliation and twisted around on the bench to face him. "Like you can even talk. At least no one actually wants to _kill me_ yet! Like that wench's dad. Whatever-her-name-is," Bryan said, brow furrowing as he tried to remember a detail so useless as this girl's name.

"Kristina," Tala interjected on reflex.

"Yeah. You know her dad's hand still twitches towards his gun when he sees you, right? Saw it the other day," he continued.

Tala's eyes filled mischief as he remembered. Kristina was the very beautiful daughter of one of the local police officers in town. Long, ash-brown hair, ivory white skin and bright green eyes. There were few words to describe the look on the man's face when he found Tala wrapped around his daughter one morning in bed. Even fewer were the words to describe his face when he found him wrapped around her elder sister. Tala was young, hot blooded, and wasn't one to stick around with any girl for any length of time – not yet, anyway. It wasn't _Tala's_ fault that he was so irresistible, and that man had brought such good-looking, feisty daughters into the world. He didn't care for meek or shy girls, they weren't any fun. He liked them with a temper and a heap of self-confidence.

"Seriously Tal," Bryan said, looking at him with clear grey eyes that were both serious and smiling, "I'm honestly suprised you weren't actually shot."

"Really? I thought you'd be more suprised with how I jumped out of her bedroom window on the third-fucking-story without breaking anything."

The pair laughed and continued talking idly about girls and work and other perfectly ordinary things to pass the time, until the street began to darken as evening came. Shadows danced along the ground as the sounds of traffic died down and the sun dipped down beneath Moscow's industrial skyline in a pale wash of grey, crimson and gold.

* * *

"So, what'd'ya think?!"

Tala raised his eyebrows in vague amusement as he looked down at the laptop screen on the coffee table, before raising his eyes back up to Ian, who had just announced his new idea with a flourish. Looking sideways, Tala saw that Spencer's eyebrows were raised with similar mild amusement, while Bryan's eyebrows were turned down with a rather more pissed off expression.

It was late at night that same day and the Demolition Boys were sat in the cosy little lounge at Tala's place. The small television in the corner of the rectangular shaped room was tuned into a grungy music channel courtesy of Bryan, providing some alternative background music. He and Tala were sat on the couch; Bryan was slouching back lazily with his arms folded and his feet on the table, while Tala was sat back comfortably with his legs folded, playing idly with his beyblade launcher. Spencer had arrived around three weeks ago after sitting his final exam for the year at university, and was now sat comfortably in his dad's favourite armchair (Tala's father, like Kristina's, also worked in law enforcement. He held a significantly higher position, worked late hours, and was probably the reason Tala hadn't been shot at yet). Ian was stood excitedly in front of the television, facing the rest of his team with one hand on his hips, eagerly awaiting their responses to his proposal.

"Well, say something!" Ian said, throwing his arms out in front of him and quickly becoming impatient.

"...The Blitzkrieg Boys," Tala said slowly, mouthing the words for the first time, testing them out.

He uncrossed his legs and leant forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his eyes fall back to the information on the screen before him. It was proudly displaying Ian's designs for a new team emblem, across which was emblazoned their new team name. The design was predominantly black and grey, with accents of yellow and orange here and there. It featured the stylistic pattern of a spinning beyblade in black with thin highlights in orange and grey. Fine yellow bolts of what looked like electricity or lightening spiraled around the blade, and stamped across the bottom of the emblem in a kind of Russian-style typeface were the words 'Blitzkrieg Boys'.

After thoroughly considering the image, Tala leant back in his seat once again, crossed his legs, and gestured lazily to Ian with one hand. "Explain."

"Huh?" Ian blinked confusedly. "But you asked me a while back to think of –"

"No, I know that. I haven't forgotten," Tala interrupted dismissively. "I mean, why this. Why 'Blitzkrieg Boys'? Come on, Ian, where's your sales pitch?" he asked, smirking.

"Oh, well," Ian began, with renewed gusto, "we're studying the second world war in History in school, and today's topic was about Hitler's Blitzkrieg tactics. You know what Blitzkrieg means, right –"

"– Yeah, _lightening war_ ," Tala said, interrupting again.

"Yep, and it was –"

"– an offensive strategy, based purely on the use of speed and movement to overwhelm the enemy. It was employed with huge success, practically devastating Russia during Operation Barabossa, killing –"

"– God, Tala, you sound like a textbook."

"I'm just lending you a hand, my dear little friend."

"No you're not, you're showing off!"

"I can't help that I have an excellent memory," Tala said smugly.

"You can't help that you're an arrogant prick," Ian muttered under his breath.

"Whatever, are you going to continue your history lesson?"

"I dunno, are you gonna stop interrupting me?"

There were a few moments of the two trying to stare each other out childishly, before Tala grinned and held up his hands to show that he was finished with his interruptions for now.

"Anyway," Ian said irritatedly, "so I was sitting in class listening to all of this when I suddenly thought, that's a really cool name."

There were a few seconds of silence before Tala just laughed outright. He thought he heard Spencer chuckle quietly to the side of him while Bryan just cussed under his breath. "Is that it?"

"No!" Ian shouted over the sound of Tala's laughter. "Stop laughing!" he whined. Tala controlled his amusement, and motioned for Ian to continue. "I mean, think about it. What do we stand for as the 'Demolition Boys'?"

"...Demolition?" Tala snarked.

Ian rolled his eyes at Tala's baiting, but kept his head. "Exactly. And for what cause – Boris'? Fuck no, we're through with all of that. But that doesn't mean we're just gonna let ourselves fall into being some shitty second-rate bladers, right? We're the best," he said, with an offhand, unconscious arrogance that was so like Tala. "So I thought this name would be the perfect way for us to redefine ourselves. We're gonna blaze through this competition. We're gonna show everyone just who we are and what we can do – but we'll do it under our own steam, 'cause we're nobody's puppets." Ian finished his little inspirational spiel, complete with triumphant little hand movements, and Tala watched as the smaller blader looked him dead in the eye, hoping for his approval.

Tala turned his icy blue eyes back to the laptop screen, taking in the design again. It was very clever, really. Even though it was the picture was still, there was a sense of movement and power about it that embodied the notion of the word 'Blitzkrieg.' And he had to admit, the name was already growing on him. It sounded silly, but Tala almost welcomed ridding himself and his team of the name 'Demotion Boys.' It was like shaking off the last of the shackles that Boris had chained them with.

They weren't the boys they used to be – they were older now, stronger, and wiser. And for others to recognise this, they had to recognise it themselves. Tala felt that a change of name was the easiest, and fastest way to declare to everyone who cared to know that they were not just tools of the Abbey, controlled by lies and fear. They were free men, and that was all the truth that they needed. Their destiny was up to them, and they would walk their own paths, swift and purposeful, blazing like lightning with the knowledge of who they really are.

Tala smirked to himself; it was all very dramatically poetic, but he liked that. Ian was more creative than he gave him credit for.

"Spencer," Tala said quietly, breaking Ian's apprehensive silence. "What do you think?"

The quiet blonde merely shrugged his shoulders and said simply, "I like it." He was a man of few words, but honest words. His presence was a quiet one that you could rely on.

"Hm," Tala said with a faint smile. Then he turned to Bryan, who looked like he had a rat up his ass this entire time. "What about you? I know you've got something to say, so spit it out already."

"I don't like it," he said, eyeing the screen with distaste.

Tala rolled his eyes. "Do you have any specific reason, or is this just your indigestion speaking?"

Bryan made an unimpressed grunt. "It sounds like the name of some fucking lame-ass European boy-band." He ran his fingers through his hair and shifted in his seat, before turning to Tala with a frown. "And I don't get indigestion," he added indignantly, as an afterthought.

Tala snickered. "Well, whatever. I like it, Bryan, so I'm just going to disregard your opinion." Then he twisted his face to look at Ian. "So, nice work," he said, to the sound of Ian's self-congratulatory celebrations. "Took you long enough, though. I want you to e-mail that to Dickenson, now. So, you know, they announce us properly during the tournament or whatever," he said with a lazy flick of the wrist.

Ian wasted no time in twisting the laptop around, tapping rapidly on the keyboard as he sent the email. Spencer stood up and announced that he was going to make himself a drink, at which point Tala and everyone else requested drinks from him as well.

"Oi, Bryan, lighten up," Tala said wryly. "You've got a face on you like a slapped backside." Bryan slowly turned his head around to face Tala with his trademark scowl. Then, he pulled his lips back into a mocking grimace of a smile, before grabbing the remote control and turning up the volume on the television. Clearly he was unhappy with the change of name, but knew that arguing about it wasn't going to change anything. Tala decided to just let him sulk it out for a while.

When Spencer returned with a tray of drinks, the four bladers began to chat about leaving for the tournament on Thursday. Bryan griped about having to endure a flight of that length so soon after the last one, Ian prattled on immaturely about hot air-hostesses, Spencer listened quietly, contributing every now and then from his space in the arm chair, and Tala found himself looking more and more forward to this tournament – to be blading beside his friends, his brothers, again.

It was a return to something very familiar; yet it was also completely different, and refreshing, and...reassuringly _normal._

It was the start of something new.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, it's been a crazy summer! I've moved house, torn down my room and redecorated quite literally _everything_. Walls, the floror, new furniture. Like, even the doorknobs on my wardrobe have changed. My better half has moved to Japan for the year as part of his studies, and I have started a new job as well as begun making applications to go back to uni next September. Busy busy, crazy crazy. Between work, skype calls, writer's block, lesson plans, decorating, and the goddamn Taken King being out, I've not had that much time on my hands.

Anyway, I will try and keep up with weekly updates. I actually do want to get this thing finished. Oh, I've also resumed work on Gemini and have about another ten chapters drafted out, two of which are almost written and ready to be posted. So watch this space.

~ Indie


	10. The Chase

**Chapter Nine: The Chase**

"Robert?" Enrique called, dragging his feet along the dark, stone corridor, licking the last of the sugar dust off his lips and massaging his forehead.

The past three days since arriving in Germany had not gone well for the blonde at all.

First of all, he'd had to cancel a number of dates with his girls to accommodate the Majestics' pre-tournament trip to Robert's castle, which he understandably wasn't very happy about. But not because dates were hard to come by for the blonde - not at all. For him, dates came as easily as though they'd fallen from the heavens right into his lap. And it wasn't because the girls had taken it badly, either. They weren't happy, of course, but Enrique had his ways. No, Enrique's displeasure came from the simple fact that, recently, he just wasn't getting his own way, and the Italian was very, very used to getting his own way.

Secondly, Robert himself wasn't extremely accommodating towards his team's visit to his humble abode. He endured their presence on the most part... but usually he kept to himself and his work, gracing them with his presence at mealtimes and seldom else besides. Enrique wished the elder teen could be a little less frosty, but under the circumstances he supposed he understood. Still; the old, stiff, frosty Robert would be a much welcomed return in comparison to this new, heavy, burdened frostiness.

Thirdly, his initial meeting with Johnny's friend Rachel had been... interesting, to say the least. Enrique had earned many different reactions from the girls he'd approached over the years - being laughed at outright was not usually one of them. Even worse, as if to rub salt in the wound, she and Johnny then exchanged what seemed to be a series of private jokes about the blonde before leaving poor Enrique standing there as dumb as a mime wondering what on earth had happened. Anyway, the pair from Britain had been ever so cliquey since their arrival and Enrique felt distinctly left out.

And then there was Oliver.

Enrique wasn't really sure what had happened to him. The two were still the very best of friends, of course. When he arrived, the blonde lamented in great detail about exactly what this two-week stay at Robert's castle was costing him and Oliver had 'hmm'ed and 'ahh'ed and 'I know'ed in all the right places, so he was _obviously_ sympathetic to the blonde's plight. In fact, the budding young artist-chef had suggested that, while they were here, they should spend a weekend in Berlin walking the streets and taking in the sights. However, Enrique distinctly felt that they both had very different ideas about just what 'taking in the sights' actually meant. Enrique was of the opinion that once you'd seen one art gallery, you'd seen them all. Oliver probably felt the same way about girls. Still, the two would come to a compromise in the end, they always did.

Despite this, Enrique still couldn't help but feel that something had changed. It might have been something to do with the large welt that had formed on his forehead after Oliver threw the pepper mill at him. The blonde lifted up his fingers to the bump again and winced. Okay, it was definitely something to do with the fact that Oliver threw a pepper mill at him. If it was Johnny who'd thrown the pepper mill at him he might have understood, but Oliver? Dainty, delicate little Oliver with the patience of a saint? No, for some reason Oliver was not as patient as he used to be and the throbbing in Enrique's head made him wonder why. He supposed that Rachel was messing up their team dynamic. Yes, in fact, he was sure that was the reason why. Three days with the girl was more than enough for anyone to realise that she basically embodied the very notion of the word impatience. She was clearly rubbing against everyone the wrong way.

"Robert," Enrique hollered down the corridor, pre-emptively announcing his presence.

It did not escape his notice that Gustav was not stationed outside the door, as always. Good. Maybe he'd be allowed inside this time. Enrique was more than a little curious to see what lay on the other side of that door. Besides, it was about time Robert gave the old man a rest anyway - Enrique was sure all that standing around did nothing good for his knees.

"I'm coming to save you from your boring work, Robert. Olli said lunch'll be ready in ten!" he called, knocking on the door once he'd reached it. No response. Strange. "Robert?" Enrique opened the large, heavy, wooden door to what was now Robert's private study and stepped inside. "Wow..." Enrique breathed softly as looked around the tall, proud, circular room.

Robert's lineage was ancient, its nobility could be traced through the centuries. His name held considerable weight throughout Europe and boasted quite the legacy, and this was reflected in the aged and impressive castle in which he lived. Dark marble and unfriendly stone walls loomed overhead while suits of armour stood sentry in the halls and along the corridors beneath portraits of his forefathers which glared down, passing cool judgement upon anyone who walked past them. The very air in the castle felt intimidating at the best of times.

Robert's study, on the other hand, was surprisingly softer - though no less impressive, that's for sure. The tall, circular walls were not stone but instead paneled wood; smooth, dark and rich. The floor, however, was made of chiseled stone, softened by a number of intricately patterned rugs. Glancing around, Enrique noticed deep blues and sultry shades of crimson; there were one or two tasseled rugs which looked as though they belonged far in the ancient East, accompanying water-pipes and street musicians perhaps, or else snake-charmers and sparkling, tinkling dancers in colourful robes.

As in the rest of the castle, a number of frames adorned the walls, however these ones did not host echoes of Robert's deceased ancestors. Instead, these frames housed a number of spectacular landscape paintings - some oil, some watercolour, all of them breathtaking - and a significant number of them, Enrique noticed, bore Oliver's delicate signature in the bottom right corner. There were bookshelves fit to bursting with dusty old volumes, the names of which Enrique wouldn't even bother trying to pronounce. Several ornately inked globes stood within a display case, each one a testament to cartography through the ages.

The room felt almost like a small, private gallery. Enrique was more than impressed by Robert's taste in decor. The eagle eyed teen had been holding out on him. As he strode around the room taking in the sights, Enrique imagined all the wasted conversations he and Robert could have had about furniture styles and famous designers.

In the centre of the room, below the grand candelabra, was Robert's desk. Carved of a deep, dark wood, it stood proud among the other curiosities in Robert's study, and was currently burdened beneath a large pile of papers that rolled inwards at the corners - very big papers which Enrique suspected stretched wider than his arms could reach. Behind this desk was a square chair furnished with a dry, olive-stained leather in which the blonde had expected to find Robert, but the elder teen was conspicuously not present.

"Hmm... where did you go?" Enrique murmured to himself while stepping forwards towards the desk. He couldn't resist peering over the papers. He sat down in Robert's deceivingly comfortable chair and began to leaf through them. "Blueprints?" he whispered. One by one he peeked at the plans, lifting them up at the corners with feather light fingers. Some of these were old and some were very new; some dated as recently as three years ago. Large square rooms, halls and corridors that seemed to stretch for miles; was Robert considering renovating the castle?

Just then, Enrique felt rather than heard the crinkle of paper underfoot. He rolled the chair back and stooped down to pick up what turned out to be a think, starchy envelope. Turning it over, he saw Robert's carelessly elegant script on the front. His penmanship was, as everything else the teen did, impeccable.

 _Went for a ride - needed some air. Will check up on Jonathon and Rachel. I'm sure you know where they'll be, if you need me._

 _Robert._

The blonde scrunched up his face. "A ride? In this weather?" He cast his clear, blue eyes towards the windows in the room, through which all he could see was a miserable haze of grey. It wasn't raining, as such - Enrique knew rain well enough thanks to the sudden, torrential downpours that one could expect from a Roman spring. However, this current, constant drizzle had hung around the castle all morning, ensuring that everything it touched would become well and truly soaked with time. The blonde ran a hand through his perfectly tousled flaxen locks as he left Robert's study.

Well, _he_ sure as well wasn't out going after him.

* * *

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Look, you're just not focusing -"

"But I _am_ , Johnny, I _really_ am, and - and that's the problem!" the brunette exclaimed.

Rachel tossed her launcher at the ground like a child and then stomped her boot with frustration. She paced agitatedly around the ring once, twice, knowing that Johnny was watching her, knowing that he was waiting yet again for the opportune moment - the calm in her storm - in which to tell her that she _could_ do this, it would just take a little more time: be patient and keep at it. Well, fuck him. She was just about sick of his fruitless positivity. And fuck the tournament too. The brunette stopped her angered pacing only to glare at a nearby empty can on the ground for a moment. She briefly considered kicking it at the redhead. But then she sighed and stooped down to pick it up instead. It slipped a little between her fingers, wet with rain. The cold metal was dented badly with a crude, jagged gash running diagonally through one side. Pathetic. She turned to Johnny.

"There was a time I could do this without even looking," she murmured, flicking her damp locks away from her face. "Clean and tidy, right through the centre. Each and every one, perfectly so. Now I can't even bloody manage to tear one in half..." She sighed, tossing the can to the ground again. Rachel stepped over to the bench at the side of the ring and collapsed onto it in a dejected heap. "It shouldn't be this hard," she moaned.

Johnny took his hands out from his pockets and strode over to the far side of the ring. He kicked aside one, two, three of the cans, stepped over the forth and then kicked the fifth, clearing a path to Rachel's Korrigan. Rachel didn't want to see him pick it up. She turned her head away to the side and folded her arms huffily, squinting her eyes against the drizzle and glaring out over Olympia Stadium's training grounds.

They'd been here all morning and Rachel still hadn't felt even the slightest bit of improvement. It was the same story yesterday and the day before. Her launch was clumsy, her turns sluggish, her attacks lacked any kind of power. It was embarrassing.

What had happened to her?

Rachel allowed her dark eyes to linger resentfully over the agility course, the precision alley, the strength line, all of which the brunette had used extensively over the last couple of days and none of which she'd had any success with. Finally, her eyes fell to one of the many beydishes that were dotted around the courtyard. She hated the sight of them; the thought of blading within such a confined space almost revolted her. This wasn't what she was used to. This wasn't the way she played.

She felt Johnny's weight on the bench beside her.

"...You keep forgetting," he started, his 'r' relaxed and lovely with its richness, "your blade didn't quite meet regulation standards before."

Rachel exhaled through her nose, folded her arms and continued ignoring the redhead and his _regulation standards_. So what if she'd preferred her blades polished and honed to a devastating point. She glared off in the direction that she and Johnny had tethered Robert's horses and played with the idea of going back to the castle to sulk, leaving Johnny out here on his own in the rain.

"So obviously you're gonna have a bit of trouble growing used to it," Johnny continued serenely, as though he weren't being ignored.

"Well that's a bloody understatement," she spat, turning her head around slightly to shoot a dirty look at him.

He actually laughed at her. The nerve of him. "Rachel," he chuckled, "it's been, what, a week?"

"Nine days," she corrected petulantly, continuing to glare at nothing in particular.

"So, a week," he resumed, brushing off her childish tone. "After a near three year break, with a completely different blade? No matter how good you were before, Rachel, you're not that good. No one is."

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence," she bit harshly.

"You're welcome." Rachel practically felt the carelessness of his shrug. Northern bastard.

Johnny dropped Korrigan into her lap and then slouched back on the bench, crossing his legs at the ankle and languidly throwing his arms behind his head. He waited. Rachel continued to ignore both him and the small weight of the blade resting on her thighs. Time passed. It dawned on her how very stupid they both must have looked, sitting there on a wet bench in the drizzling rain, Johnny looking as though he were lounging on a beach somewhere in the Mediterranean and she, tense and angry, with every limb she owned folded and a scowl on her face simply because she couldn't play a game.

She sighed, her shoulders lightened.

Rachel unfolded her arms and picked up Korrigan again, searching within its new appearance for the blade she once knew. To anyone who had never really looked closely, it seemed virtually the same - it was perhaps a darker shade of grey, at most. But to her the thing was, at best, alien and uncomfortable; at worst, completely unusable. Lighter, taller, softer at the edges, even the way it moved was vastly different to what she remembered from before.

Korrigan was lithe, nimble and fluid in its movements - but not in the way that water was fluid. It more resembled air in its movements. Water was a constant, a slow and enduring strength. It would run and run and run, as a river does, changing its course when meeting resistance and swallowing whole anything that might cross its path. Her Korrigan could not have been more different. Her Korrigan would not _meet_ resistance. It would dance around it as though it knew where the offense was heading before even it did itself. She would run circles around the opposition and make them think they were squares. Her blade thrived on the chase, excelled at turning the tables and using her opponent's predator instinct against it. But the parts that made up this blade were clumsy, unyielding, and Rachel struggled desperately to feel the weightless fluidity she remembered so well. She stared intensely at it, willing herself to find within the blade she'd loved.

"Have a match with me."

Rachel blinked, tearing her eyes off the blade. "What?" she said dumbly, looking incredulously into Johnny's lavender eyes.

"You heard."

"You can't be serious?" she scoffed.

"I can," the redhead smirked.

"When I can't even manage to pull off a steady launch and hit a couple of stupid targets?"

"Especially then."

"You're out of your mind."

"And _you_ ," he said, poking her in the shoulder more firmly than was perhaps necessary. Rachel resisted the urge to rub it. "You need to get out of yours. Forget about your stupid fancy launches, your hairpin turns and jackass little cans," he said, jumping to his feet and gesturing around the training circuit in which they'd wasted more time than she'd like to admit. "Forget about them and _get a feel for your blade_. Because I'm just about sick of seeing you lose patience with the damn thing when you havnae even used it yet!" he exclaimed, turning back to her.

Rachel blinked once, twice, and then snorted. "Please, don't be ridiculous," she said dismissively, "I've _been_ using it all bloody week -"

"Nine days -"

"Exactly. That's more than enough time to know that this," she replied, brandishing the beyblade up at him, "isn't working. It's too tall, doesn't have the weight or staying power of my old blade - the specs are all wrong for me."

"More like you're all wrong for it," Johnny muttered. Rachel kicked at him but her leg couldn't quite reach. So she just huffed and began running fingers through her damp hair with one hand, peeling it away from her face. She looked up as Johnny began to speak again. "Well suit yourself," he said, shrugging, "I'm not gonnae carry on sitting out here in the rain. But - Jesus, when did you become such a quitter?" he spat as he turned away and began making his way towards the horses at the entrance to the training grounds.

"Excuse me?" Rachel called indignantly towards Johnny's gradually retreating back. He ignored her. She stood up. "No, come on, don't just walk away," she called. And yet Johnny continued doing just that. She wouldn't stand for it. Rachel strode forward, stepping over her abandoned launcher and reaching out to grab Johnny by the elbow. "I am _not_ a quitter," she insisted.

"No?" Johnny asked, twisting around and out of her grip.

"No," Rachel replied firmly.

"Prove it, then," he said, taking a step back and looking down towards her feet. She followed his eyes and saw her beyblade launcher lying by her left foot, its discarded ripcord just inches away, half-submerged in a puddle. She swallowed the small lump of guilt that formed in her throat at the sight. "Pick it up and prove it," Johnny repeated.

Rachel did so. Her launcher was cold and wet and it slipped about in her hand. "It's just… harder than I thought it would be," she began meekly, not looking at the redhead, "you know, getting back into the game. I didn't think it would be such a struggle," she admitted. And it was true. She'd hardly ever struggled with anything; it used to drive her brother mad. Growing up, anything and everything she put her hand to she took like a duck to water, naturally and almost without effort. Everything besides getting along with others and staying out of trouble - at those two things, Liam had held the upper hand in every way.

Johnny chuckled. "Tough shit," he said, smirking. Rachel wanted to wipe it off of his face. "What?" he asked innocently when he noticed the look she was giving him. "I've got no sympathy for you when you're the one making things difficult."

Rachel tutted and opened her mouth to protest but Johnny wouldn't allow it.

"No. Stop being stubborn, stop making excuses, and just ready your beyblade," he said impatiently. Johnny took his Salamalyon out of his back pocket and mounted it on his launcher. He paced several steps away before turning back to her and taking a launching stance. "Like I said, forget your drills and targets and your stupid little exercises. No rules, no winners, just a friendly match."

Rachel's misgivings about battling Johnny had settled somewhat at the mention of the word friendly. If it was a friendly match, she probably wouldn't have to call out her bitbeast. She didn't want to admit that she was more than a little reluctant to do so. She didn't want to admit that her fear of it might be the very thing holding her back.

"Just you and me," Johnny continued, "spinning blades together."

Rachel raised an eyebrow sardonically. "What, like old times?"

"Sure," Johnny shrugged casually.

Rachel rolled her eyes and smiled at his off-handedness. Her earlier irritation had evaporated at the look on his face. "Fine," she said, mounting Korrigan on its launcher and taking her place across the courtyard from Johnny. This, she could handle. No beydish, no boundaries, no keeping score … no risks. Rachel slowly threaded the ripcord into the launcher and readied her footing, preparing to launch. She and Johnny looked like mirror images of each other; he gripping the ripcord in his right hand, she gripping with her left.

"Ready," she called.

"Okay. Three, -"

"Two…" she echoed, joining in with a whisper. "One, -"

"Go, Salamalyon!"

Rachel pulled hard on her ripcord and felt her beyblade power forward. It hurtled into the ground and wobbled once, twice, three times, making her cringe. Clumsy. Then, Johnny's flaming red beyblade came thrashing towards hers… so much for this being a friendly match. Gritting her teeth in silent, furious concentration, Rachel twisted around on the spot and her blade followed suit, moving rapidly to the side in a large, curved arc. It narrowly avoided Johnny's blade and then came to rest just behind her.

Johnny pulled out of his dive at the last moment, his blade stopped just inches shy of Rachel's right foot. "Not a bad dodge," Johnny said.

"It could have been better," Rachel returned stiffly. She couldn't shrug off the sluggish feeling she was getting from her blade's movements.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Johnny teased.

"Oh, shut up."

Rachel huffed and urged Korrigan to sweep back around again. It did so, and came barreling towards the red beyblade from the left - but Johnny pulled his blade away with ease. The two spinning tops circled each other in the middle of the courtyard - fiery red against iron grey. Occasionally one would make a rapid jab at the other, which would then be dodged in a blur before being returned in equal measure.

Rachel began to smile. She ran her blade around and along the training apparatus while Johnny gave chase with his Salamalyon. Up and over, down and under and back again. There was a moment in which Salamalyon lost its balance while zooming along the pull-up bars; it slipped and fell, unsteady after the impact of hitting the ground. Rachel quickly double backed with her Korrigan and lashed forwards. Salamalyon shot out to the side and only narrowly avoided being hit. However, it didn't escape being scraped on the rebound as the brunette sent her Korrigan hurtling towards it again. Rachel laughed.

So did Johnny. "You just got lucky there," he jibed.

"Sure," Rachel grinned, a twinkle growing in her eye along with her confidence, "you keep telling yourself that."

* * *

"Whoa, whoa… steady there. Gently," robert murmured, gently tapping Equinox's strong, soft neck. His horse snorted contentedly, shook his long, chestnut mane and slowed its trot down to a gentle step.

Ahead, Robert could see the entrance into his stadium's training ground. Tethered to the fence and sheltered from the rain beneath a thicket of trees were two other horses, one a deep, inky black and the other a soft, honey roan. Well, at least the pair had the sense to tie up his horses under relative shelter, Robert thought as he approached the grounds.

The young man with deep, purple hair slicked back with rain dismounted and walked his horse over to join Solitude and Ilka by the trees. The animals nickered at each other in greeting. He dislodged the two horse blankets from Equinox's saddle (that Johnny and Rachel had been too thoughtless to bring themselves) and carefully threw them over the other two horses, securing them in place. He paused just long enough to give Equinox one final pat before walking ahead through the drizzle into the training grounds.

It had been a while since Robert had set foot here. He used to make the journey down almost every weekend. The hours he spent training and honing his technique were a welcome break from the monotony of study. However, owing to recent… events, Robert's free time had become scarce, to say the least.

"Come on, Salamalyon, chase her down!"

"In your dreams!"

Robert's head lifted at the echoed sounds of battle and he spied the pair at the far end of the courtyard. They were positioned around the agility course and even from where he stood, Robert could a dull grey blur whizzing circles around Johnny's bright red beyblade. Neither of the pair had called out their bitbeasts yet, it seemed.

Robert took shelter unnoticed beneath the overhang of the equipment shed and let his eyes roam over the happily battling pair. Despite the rain and the slight chill in the air, he saw that Johnny had opted to discard his jacket and it now lay messily on the ground near one of the benches. Rachel had instead merely rolled up her sleeves in an attempt to cool off.

He couldn't see from here, but Robert knew that those arms bore a pearlescent, razorblade lacework of scars, a memento from the car crash that killed her brother. He'd seen the scars last night at dinner; when asked about them, Rachel went curiously deaf and didn't join in the conversation until the subject was changed. Anyway, rumour had it that the only reason she hadn't been crushed in the crash herself is because she, in drunken wisdom, hadn't worn her seatbelt and, on impact, was flung out of the driver's seat, through the windscreen and into the road…

But the eagle-eyed teen didn't believe that for a second. From what he'd learned of her through Johnny, the girl had a reputation for being reckless but she was… far too smart for _that_. No, Robert was more inclined to believe that, whatever had happened, it had nothing to do with roadside accidents and everything to do with her complete and sudden withdrawal from the sport of beyblade three years ago. It had something to do with Rachel's secrecy and evasiveness, and it had something to do with Johnny tensing at the dinner table the night before when the subject of her 'retirement' was raised.

Regardless, curious though it was, Rachel's past was none of his concern. Robert was just mildly grateful that she had stepped forward and joined the team, allowing them to participate in this new Battle Royale tournament. He knew how much it meant to Johnny. But participating, it seemed, was all the pair was interested in doing at this point because neither of them looked as though they were taking this battle seriously. And that wouldn't do. Whether _he_ was participating in the tournament or not, Robert would not have his team's name sullied by casual players. Besides, he was mildly curious to see what this girl was made of and why Johnny held her with such high regard.

Robert smirked, brushed his damp, deep purple hair away from his eyes and pulled out his own beyblade. Since the pair were doing little more than having a quaint discussion over their blades, he'd have to bring the fight to them. Click and twist, thread and pull: Robert silently launched his pale blue blade straight into the midst of Robert and Johnny's battle, taking them both by surprise.

"Robert?" Johnny cried, while the brunette just whipped around, her wet hair flying wildly, looking for the aggressor who just knocked her blade off balance.

"Forgive me for butting in," Robert called as he approached them, "but I was falling asleep over there."

Johnny smirked and rose to his taunt. "Is that so?"

"Quite. In fact, I saw more exciting beybattles fought by the rookie juniors at my first regionals."

The redhead laughed, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, I'm so gonna kick your ass."

Robert allowed himself a smile. "Griffolyon," he called, summoning his bitbeast. The majestic creature took a lap around the area, showing off its enormous wingspan before coming to rest placidly behind its master. Off to the side, heard Rachel gasp and saw her take an instinctive step back.

"Yes, you've not been introduced, have you? This is my bitbeast, Griffolyon. This mighty spirit has been passed down my family for generations," he said fondly.

Rachel withdrew her beyblade; it came to a level stop beside her feet. She bit her lip nervously. "That's nice," she said flatly, her wary eyes roaming over Griffolyon. "But I think I'll -"

"No, come on Rachel, don't wimp out," Johnny said lightly with a chuckle. "You need to help me wipe the floor with him. Didn't you hear him? - he's just insulted us both!"

"No, really Johnny, I think -"

But whatever Rachel thought, she didn't get the chance to say, because Robert had chosen that moment to slip his beyblade behind her and knock hers back into the centre of the clearing. She glared at him resentfully.

"What _are_ you doing?" she demanded.

"Well, if you really do intend to take my place on this team, I need to make sure you're capable," Robert shrugged. "Besides, I hear you've been having a bit of trouble with your bitbeast -"

Rachel rounded her glare at Johnny as he said this, whose smile faltered at the sight of it. The phrase _if looks could kill_ came to mind…

"- So why don't we see if we can't tempt it out together, hmm? Griffolyon!"

Robert didn't give her any time to reply, shooting his blade forward for another attack. He heard Johnny summon his own bit-beast and was temporarily blinded by the brilliant, white light of its release as he moved in to intercept Robert's offense. It was an unnecessary measure. Rachel's reactions were much quicker than Robert had bargained for. Griffolyon hadn't even reached the spot where her blade was just moments ago before the brunette had somehow managed to bring her blade back and around again and launched a volley of attacks from behind. Quick though she was, her strikes were a little… unkempt, and Robert's blade brushed them off easily.

"Is that all?"

And then his Griffolyon exited stage right, buffeted roughly away by an intense red blur.

"Forgetting something?" Johnny smirked.

Robert laughed and willed his blade to regain balance. It did so easily. "Nothing that wasn't already worth forgetting," he taunted.

And so it began, a furious three-way battle in which Rachel tried to escape Robert while he absorbed her attempts to shove him off the chase, all the while dodging Johnny's relentless attempts to interfere. The whole ordeal was rather confusing and proving more difficult than he'd originally thought. Johnny must have been lying to him earlier that week when he came with concerns about this girl being fit for the tournament, because the picture Robert saw before him now was nothing close to what he had imagined in his mind at Johnny's words.

Rachel, it turned out, was extremely good at using the surrounding obstacles to her advantage… infuriatingly so. Robert restrained a flinch as she led him crashing headlong around one of the bench's legs and into a pillar, before using her momentum to double around and lash out at his blade which, still being out of balance from the previous collision, was something he wasn't able to avoid. Robert paused only long enough for his blade to regain balance, allowing him to dodge Johnny's incoming attack, before he lifted up his eyes to look across the courtyard.

Rachel had the intriguing habit of moving with her beyblade. He had seen a multitude of techniques over the years and most bladers had the tendency to throw their arms about during a match or take an instinctive step back when taken by surprise or, conversely, a step forward when launching an attach; Rachel's movements were something quite different. Her blade arced around her as she turned, moved to the left or the right with her, and if it swung around a corner and changed direction, her feet always followed suit. As Robert watched Rachel's eyes flickering restlessly around her, taking in every nook and cranny of the courtyard, it dawned on him that, until that point, she had been the centre-point of this battle. Yes, _he_ was giving chase but, somehow, _she_ was the one dictating his every move.

"Not bad," he said as she turned around to face him again. "But not terribly impressive, either."

Her dark eyes narrowed in response.

Robert plunged his pale blue blade into the fray again, swerved out of the way of Johnny's predictable attack and resumed his chase of Rachel's blade. He could see only one way to corner her, and he had to be quick and precise. She led him under the precision targets, through the obstacle course, around the launching alley and Robert followed chase, just as he imagined she was expecting him to do. Then he saw it, a light of opportunity spark in her eyes, tight with furious concentration. She was planning on leading him around the bend of the next flag pole and doubling back on him, he was sure of it. Robert urged his beyblade to speed up … he was getting closer … he was right on her tail … and then he rapidly swerved to the left just as she had doubled back to take another swipe at his blade. She missed, there being nothing there to hit, and her blade toppled forward and went skidding into the nearest beydish. Perfect.

" _Shit,_ " Rachel hissed with bewilderment and frustration.

Robert smirked as he circled around and dashed the iron-grey beyblade back into the centre of the beydish it was trying desperately to escape. The pale blue blade landed neatly in the dish and began to run circles around the outer rim, patrolling Rachel's only way out. He walked across to stand over the dish and gaze imperiously down on their blades.

"Well, now that I've got you in one place, let's see what you're really made of, shall we."

"Why are you doing this?" Rachel demanded, her dark eyes full to the brim with suspicion and distrust and… something akin to fear. How odd.

"I'm not doing anything," Robert replied carelessly as Johnny's blade joined the dish. "Not yet, anyway. Griffolyon," he called, " _Wing Dagger_!"

On command, his great Griffon bit-beast swooped down on the match, gracefully evaded Salamalyon's counter measures and unleashed a barrage of attacks on both blades. The sheer power and force of Robert's strikes were too much for either blade to handle and before long, the iron-grey beyblade, with nowhere to run or hide, had begun to wobble and topple dangerously out of balance.

"Oh, Korrigan…" Rachel whispered, dancing uncertainly on the spot. "Robert, stop it!" she insisted with an edge of panic in her voice, trying to avoid another of Griffolyon's barrages. She was just short of a true dodge, and the resulting swipe knocked her blade halfway across the dish. Its attack ring grated against the surface; the uncomfortable sound of metal grinding against metal assaulted their ears.

"...Okay, I think you've made your point, mate," Johnny said, clearing his throat and stepping forward.

Robert blinked, not understanding why Johnny appeared so worried. "I'm not trying to make any kind of _point,_ Jonathon," he reasoned. "Although, if she can't handle the pressure now," he said as an afterthought, launching another attack, "I dread to think how she'll handle the stadium…"

"Why're you suddenly so interested all of a sudden?" Johnny accused defensively. "You didn't seem to care about it before."

And then the battle was over before Robert had a chance to reply.

There was a sudden, blinding flash of light and a strained, strangled cry of ' _No!_ ', but it was almost inaudible over the strange, quavering, high-pitched sound that echoed around the courtyard and caused the hairs on the back of Robert's neck to tingle. He thought he caught a glimpse of something dark and feathered, with an unnervingly sharp beak and a tail that seemed too long to be allowed. And then it was gone, and Rachel was withdrawing her blade in a hurry. The expression on her face was a curious mix, somewhere between distress and bewilderment and… satisfaction. She lingered only long enough to pack her beyblade away. Then she turned and ran towards the horses without sparing either of them a second glance.

Down in the dish, Salamalyon and Griffolyon were perfectly still, spinning in place, awaiting the commands of their owners. Robert glanced across at Johnny whose eyes, although clearly troubled, revealed that he was equally as confused. As the echoed sound of hooves on the wet ground faded away, Robert sighed and called Griffolyon back into his hand.

"I don't suppose you could explain what just happened?" he asked the redhead with a level voice.

Johnny shrugged, pocketing his blade. He was looking out towards the spot where Rachel had vanished from view, chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed, looking uncertain. "…I dunno," he offered eventually, flicking his sopping wet hair away from his unreadable eyes. Then he shrugged a little too carelessly. "But let's get back to the castle, shall we? I'm starving."

With that, Johnny promptly recovered his uselessly wet jacket and started making for the two remaining horses, leaving Robert with more questions than he'd had before.

Why did Rachel freak out like that? Why didn't she continue blading after her bit-beast had broken through its release? And what was Johnny not telling him?

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Hey guys, what's up? It's been rainy and horrible and miserable all week, but that's fine by me. It's indoor weather, which means more time to write. Anyway, hope you're all well and not burdened down with the lurgies like me! _

_Just want to say thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Your're all amazing. No matter how many times I leave, then return with good intentions and empty promises, there's always been a warm welcome for me here. It's incredible, thank you so much. And thank you to those of you who've asked questions in their reviews, I love an inquisitive reader and it means a lot to me that you're interested in what I've written here._

 _So here's a quick FAQ:_

 _ **When is this set?** After the original season one. Yep, you heard right. V-force and G-rev **never happened.**_

 _ **Where's Daichi?** Oops. I er.. actually totally forgot about him. Probably because I never really liked him. Sorry, but he most likely won't be showing up!_

 ** _Who's the main character in this fic_** _ **anyway?** Erm, short answer - there isn't one. I've really shot myself in the foot with this fic because a) its super long (four arcs, to be exact, each around twenty chapters long) and b) the story consists of one large main plot in which there are about eight or nine subplots. There's a plot surrounding Rachel and her past, Mariam and her role in the Saint Shields, and Robert and the blueprints Enrique's just saw in his study (although that's not important until much later). There's some love-triangle business in the works, as well as some TyxHil sprinkled around here and there. Matilda undergoes some heavy character development and takes a level in badass later on. I've nearly completely rewritten the lore surrounding bit-beasts and scared spirits, so there's that too. Oh, and of course Tyson and Kai will get a showdown in the end - wouldn't be Beyblade without it!_

 _ **So far, this is basically just Spaces!**_ _Well, yes, and no. I've recycled **a lot** of the content, I'll give you that. But I've also cut some out and added fresh material here and there. There's a lot of background stuff that I've changed, but most of it is 'backstage' that you wouldn't have seen yet. Think of it as building a house - the foundation wasn't quite right. The measurements were off, and some of the bricks were laid wrong. So I had to fix that: the result is something that very nearly looks the same, but works much better. At least, it does in my head, and that what matters._

 ** _Why did Rachel quit 'blading? What's her secret?_** _As much as I love an inquisitive reader, it's important to her sub-plot and will be revealed in time._

 _~ Indie x_


	11. Travel Woes

**Chapter Ten: Travel Woes**

"Quick, Maxi, put that one out too!"

"Huh? What one, where?"

"That one, to your left! Your other left - MY LEFT!"

"I told you it wasn't a good idea, Tyson, didn't I _tell_ you!? But did you listen -"

"Geez! Alright Kenny, I get it! Just shut up already and help us put these hotdogs out before Hilary gets here!"

Hilary stopped beside Grandpa and Rei and blinked at the scene before her eyes, not entirely sure what to make of it. For the moment, only one thing was certain. Tyson could _not_ , in fact, be trusted to handle the grill alone. She glared at Rei, who seemed conveniently preoccupied with kicking a pebble near his foot. The only reason he'd been allowed to at all was because Rei vouched for him, a fact which Hilary presumed he regretted very much now, considering how interesting the elder teen was finding the pebble.

Tyson, Max and Kenny were all stood by the river with their backs to her, waving their arms in the air and stomping frantically on the ground. The portable barbeque grill was turned over on its side issuing obscene amounts of smoke, as were the small patches of ground that the three clowns were stamping on. Hilary assumed this was where the flaming hotdogs landed after Tyson knocked the grill down in a panic. A distinct smell of _burning_ lingered in the air.

"Right," Tyson panted, still completely oblivious that they were all being watched. "All we gotta do now is get rid of these burnt ones, pick the grill back up and start the fire again. Hilary'll never find out. Haha - I told ya I could fix it!"

"Er, but Ty? Didn't you put _all_ the hotdogs on the grill?" Max said awkwardly.

"Oh, crap!" Tyson's hands flew up to his hat in panic, "I did! Hilary _is_ gonna find out! We're so dead - wait!" His eyes lit up as his face gained the 'I've-just-had-a-brilliant-idea' expression. "I'll just run to the store and get some more! I'll be back in like five min - oh! Heh heh heh ... hey, Hilary," he froze in mid-step as he turned around and saw Hilary standing there with her hands on her hips and hellfire in her narrowed eyes.

She gritted her teeth for all of two seconds before letting loose. "I knew it! I _knew_ you were going to do something stupid like this. _You_ _set fire to all the hotdogs_?!" she yelled, stomping towards him.

"Ah! Hil, it was an accident! I was just tryn'a be helpful," he cried, dodging Hilary's outstretched arms as she made to grab for him.

"Helpful? Pah, you were just hungry more like! Like you always are - you're not even a walking stomach, you're a black hole!"

"Geez! I'm sorry, I can fix it! I was just gonna run to store and get some new ones!"

"Yeah, you'd better run, Tyson!" aiming one last swipe at his disappearing body. Within a few seconds he was already up the hill and down the road. Hilary shot Rei a pointed 'told-you-so' look, which he returned with a meek smile (and a roll of the eyes when she wasn't looking), before making her way over to the riverbank and helping Max with the grill.

"So?" she said to Max, a little tetchily, as they set the grill back on its feet.

"Hey, don't look at me like that, Hil, it was his idea!" Max appealed.

"Well, _obviously_. Why didn't you try and stop him?"

"I did," Max exclaimed, throwing his hands out before him, "but you know what he gets like. He thought we were saying he wasn't capable of just grilling a few sausages -"

"Which he _isn't_ -"

"Come on Hil, give him a break. He really _was_ trying to be helpful, this time. Honest."

Hilary folded her arms and pursed her lips at him. But Max's 'please-go-easy-on-Tyson' face was just a little too pitiful and too cute for her to stay miffed for very long, as usual. So she just sighed and walked away with a quiet, 'alright, whatever'.

Ten minutes later and they were all set up. Hilary and Grandpa had laid out the picnic blankets and fold-away chairs, Kenny and Max set the rice and other dishes on top of a small wall that ran along the river bank (as they were hardy going to bring a whole table, too). Rei rescued the grill. Before long it was smoking nicely, ready to cook the hot dogs. So now the group was complete, save for Kai (they had absolutely no idea where he was - but they were used enough to him disappearing that they weren't too concerned), Tyson and the hotdogs.

"Hey, guys, I'm back!"

 _Speak of the devil._ Hilary rolled her eyes and glanced over her shoulder at Tyson who was jogging down the hill, his arms wrapped around a brown grocery bag. "Told you I'd fix it," he said cheekily. She didn't reply, but instead turned her head to the side with a huff. She might have let Max off the hook, but she still wanted Tyson to know that she was not impressed.

Tyson handed the hotdogs to Rei and stayed over there to chat, since he clearly wasn't wanted on the blanket. After a few minutes of covert glares from Hilary, Tyson grabbed one of the freshly cook hotdogs and went over to sit down by her.

"Come on, Hil, Kai's supposed to be the wet-blanket around here, not you!" He wiggled a hotdog in her face. It had a smiley face on it, drawn messily with tomato ketchup. "First one off the grill, just for you," he said, cheerily.

Hilary rolled her eyes and accepted the happy hotdog, smirking. "I'll have one of those cans of soda too, thanks," she said, pointing to the stack of cans by the wall.

"Pfft, don't push your luck," he said, but he got up anyway and grabbed a couple of cans. "Hey Hil, think fast!" he called, chucking a can over to her.

"Argh, Ty-son!" she growled. She only barely caught it, and narrowed her eyes at him for his efforts. He just chucked at her dismissively and went to join Max in grabbing some food. Although, he did _not_ join Max in slathering his hotdog with inhumane amounts of mustard. He had nothing against the condiment, of course, but he had his limits for everything. Well, most things.

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough, with Tyson cracking jokes and Grandpa doing some funny (and embarrassing) things every now and then. Kai popped out from some small shrubs at some point and came to join them. Hilary wondered vaguely how much of his time he actually spent sleeping in the greenery, but thought she'd better not ask. They played some old-school truth and dare, which very quickly had to be stopped because the dares were getting too silly. There was no way in hell that Rei would _ever_ shave off all the hair on his head (eyebrows mercifully optional) and Kai was _not_ going to walk naked into the local supermarket singing the Russian national anthem at the top of his lungs _any_ time soon.

When the day began to glow warm with sunset, Kenny tried to rile everyone together for a pre-travel pep talk, courtesy of his good-self and his trusty laptop, Dizzi. Of course, no one was really paying any attention until Hilary belted out at the top of her lungs for everybody to be quiet.

"Thank-you," she said sweetly to the stunned faces of the group, before twirling down on the ground neatly next to Tyson.

"Thanks, Hilary," he said gratefully, before adjusting his glasses and beginning his talk. "Now, I thought that, since we're leaving early tomorrow morning and probably won't get much of a chance to properly go over our game plans on the plane, I'd discuss what Dizzi and I have come up with for you guys. But first, I think we should all give ourselves a pat on the back for of our hard work, and the hours of training you guys have put in over the past couple of months."

"Here, here!" Tyson called, raising his soda can in a mock toast. Max chuckled, while Kai just smirked with a self-satisfied 'hn'.

' _Hey, and let's not forget Hilary! She's put in blood, sweat and tears to rip you guys into shape - you wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for her!'_ Dizzi said.

"Oh, don't be silly," Hilary said, a rosy blush covering her cheeks.

' _Oh, shush. We girls have to look out for each other!'_

"She's right, home-girl," Grandpa said with a twinkle in his eye. "You've done us all proud."

"N'awww," Tyson jibed, patting her on the head and throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, good work, Hil. Takes a lot to get Kai's lazy butt up and working, but you seemed to manage it somehow," he said jokingly.

"Oh, ha ha, Tyson," she said, with a hand in his face, still blushing and pushing him away. "I think you've got mixed up in that head of yours somewhere. You see, the one with the lazy butt is _you_."

"Anyway, moving on," Kenny said, trying to regain focus in the group. "I thought we'd just go over some possible line-ups so we can get the most out of this team. Seeing as Max is the impenetrable steel wall of the Bladebreakers, I thought our best bet would be to place him against and purely offensive opponents, or against an opponent that bases their tactics on speed. He'll be able to wait out all their efforts like nothing, and then bring the game home to us."

"Yeah alright, go team Draciel!" Max cheered, holding his blade up high. "I'm liking the sound of this strategy, Chief."

"Yeah, I know," Kenny said, a little too smugly. Dizzi called him up on that, but he (rather unconvincingly) feigned deafness and, with pink cheeks, carried on. "Next, there's you, Rei. You've got more of a balanced approach to battle, so you'd be quite well prepared for anything. Although I thought maybe we could put you up against defensive and perhaps speed battlers as well, because you've got the cool smarts to wait out their tactics and think of a counter strategy."

"Sure. Sounds good to me Kenny. Man, I can't wait to get back in the stadium!" He said, with much enthusiasm.

"Kai, since you're captain, you're obviously gonna pick and choose your battles as you please, so I don't see what much I can say here…" Kenny trailed off a little awkwardly. During their last round of tournaments, Kai mostly sat on the bench and only really chipped in if he felt like it, or if he had to, like that one time in Hong Kong when Tyson sprained his ankle, causing him and Rei to miss their match. "But since your style is more offensive anyway, I'd like to think we could use you in battles against offensive opponents, too. Fight fire with fire, so to speak."

"Whatever you say, Kenny," he shrugged lazily, not even bothering to sit up or open his eyes.

"Hey, what about me!?" Tyson whined, wondering why on earth he hadn't got a mention yet.

"Oh, well -"

' _We just thought we'd throw you in against anyone, Tyson. You know, to give our ears a break when you've been whining for a little too long.'_

"Pah, I'll give my ears a break from your cheeky little speakers in a second, Dizzi," Tyson said, waving his fist at her in jest.

"Tyson, you will not!" Kenny said, getting defensive.

"I'm just kidding, Chief, geez!" Tyson said, holding his hands up before him.

"You'd better be," Kenny huffed. "Anyway, I thought we could use you and Kai interchangeably, since your styles are more or less based on offense."

"You bet they're based on offense," Tyson said, throwing himself down onto his back on the blanket and resting his head on his hands. "Offense _is_ the best offense, after all," he said, looking cheekily over to Max.

"Hey, no its not, defense is!" he called, lobbing a half-finished hotdog at him.

"Ugh, hey! You got mustard on my shirt!"

Tyson's eyes narrowed in mischief as he reached for the ketchup bottle.

"Oh boy," Hilary said vacating the picnic blanket, anticipating the messy food fight to come. She walked down to join Kai by the river, only realising that she hadn't noticed he'd gotten up until just now.

"So," she started, looking sideways at him, "Are you excited?"

Kai just stood there with his arms folded, staring out over the river.

"Oh, come on," she teased, prodding him in the side with her elbow. "You've gotta be at least, like, a little excited."

"Hn. If I say yes, will you be quiet?"

"Errm, no," she said with a smile.

Even though he'd turned up late, Kai was surprisingly placid today. He'd joined in with conversations every now and then and even endured their silly game (for a while), so she knew no harm would come from provoking him. The distant sound of Tyson and Max yelling in their food fight reached her ears. Sounded like someone had just been hit in the eye.

"Then yes," Kai said, stooping down to pick up a pebble and then throwing it across the river. It skipped one, two, three times before disappearing below the water. "I guess I am _a little excited._ "

Hilary smiled a small, triumphant smile. "I knew it," she said, simply.

Kai just rolled his eyes and threw another pebble. After a few moments of silence and pebble throwing, Kai said, "Shouldn't you be… packing, or something?"

"Hmm, nah," Hilary said, picking up a pebble and trying to make it skip the water too. She frowned a little when it just sunk miserably to the bottom. "I'll do it later, before I go to bed."

Kai smirked. "Just don't make us late."

Hilary rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Right, as if _that_ would happen. I'll have you know I'm perfectly organized, thank you very much."

"If you say so..."

"Hey, Hilary, heads up!"

Hilary turned around just in time for a hotdog bun to hit her right in the middle of her forehead. It bounced off merrily and fell cheerily to the floor. She thought she heard Kai suppress a laugh.

 _Oh, that boy._

" _TY-_ SON!"

* * *

"Hil, we are _actually_ gonna miss the flight, you know…"

"Shut up, Tyson," Hilary snapped, her hands rising up to her head as she frantically checked her mental checklist. "Okay, so. All my toiletries are in the suitcase already, I've packed my toothbrush. My cell phone is -"

"In your overnight bag with everything else, I just watched you pack it," Tyson interrupted from the doorway, rolling his eyes. "Come on Hil, you've got everything. Let's go already."

"Oh my god, but what about…"

Hilary ran off to the side of the room, muttering to herself as she turfed through her draws. Tyson repressed a sigh and pulled out his blackberry to check the time. He'd been waiting around in the doorway to her bedroom for ten minutes now. He'd been waiting in Gramps' Toyota for ten minutes _before_ that, until Kai told him to just go up and drag Hilary out or else. As far as he could guess, he'd probably end up waiting another ten minutes until they actually left. Honestly, sometimes Tyson thought he had the patience of a freaking saint.

"Seriously, Hil, _we're gonna miss the flight_ ," Tyson stressed again as Hilary disappeared past him and into the bathroom. She was all flustered and there was a stressed out blush over her cheeks.

"Two minutes, Tyson, that's all I'm asking for!" she called from the bathroom. She returned a few seconds later with a hairbrush and a hairdryer and threw them into the suitcase that lay open on the middle of her bed. Her very messily packed suitcase. For someone who was so OCD sometimes, she sure was disorganized when it came to packing - it looked like she'd just thrown everything in about an hour ago (which in fairness, Tyson thought, she pretty much had). There was no structure to it at all, just a pile of clothes, some books, shoes, shampoo bottles, and - was that a bra? Tyson quickly looked away from the purple lacy little thing, suddenly feeling a little hot under the collar. Damnit, it was seven am, he was tired, hungry and did not want to deal with Hilary and her underwear hanging around all over the place. Stupid girls and their girly things making life complicated for him.

"Yeah yeah, two minutes," he growled, "you said that _ten minutes ago_! You should have packed earlier!"

"Ugh," Hilary groaned impatiently. She twisted around to glare at him with her ruby eyes flashing and her little hands balled up into fists at her sides. "You _know_ I couldn't, Tyson!" The navy haired teen winced a little as her voice reached that high pitch that was just a little too much for him to handle. "I started as soon as I got back!"

"Well you shoulda done it yesterday, then!"

"Duh! I would have if you didn't keep us all hanging around the dojo all night playing those stupid little games," she countered, waving her hands around in indignation.

"Stupid, huh?" Tyson countered.

They were _not_ stupid and, as far as he remembered, they all had a riot - even Kai joined in eventually! After they all got cleaned up after that food fight, of course. He remembered what a funny sight Hilary was when she came out of the bathroom wearing one of his old Bladebreakers t-shirts (complete with logo and the name _Kinomiya_ emblazoned boldly in orange writing across the back) and a pair of his boxers with the drawstring done all the way up to keep them from falling off her tiny hips. They dwarfed her completely and she was the butt of many jokes. But, when the only other option was something of Gramps' (waaay _no_ ), Rei's (awkward) or Kai's ( _more_ awkward) she didn't have a lot of choice in the matter (Max was packed already and all his clothes were at home, anyhow).

They pretty much just passed the night conspiring about the teams that would appear in the tournament, playing games, and chatting until they fell asleep where they sat at around two am. Then when the 'early alarm' on her cell phone went off at half five and woke them all up, Hilary sat bolt upright, screamed dramatically about not having packed yet, stole a pair of his jeans to cover his boxers that she was still wearing and literally ran all the way home.

"Yeah - stupid! You know, if I didn't hang around I could've gone home, packed and actually gotten some sleep," Hilary accused, prodding him in the chest with her finger while hitching up his jeans (that she was still wearing and that were constantly threatening to slip off) with her other hand. Tyson swatted her finger away irritatedly, his ears vaguely registering the sound of someone stomping up the stairs. He ignored it.

"Well," he said indignantly, " _Sorry_ for letting you stay the night so you didn't have to walk home in the dark!" He poked her once or twice in the shoulder to illustrate his indignation. How ungrateful!

"I knew it," Kai said bluntly from behind Tyson, making him jump. Before the navy haired teen had a chance to turn around, he was grabbed by the back of his collar and pulled out of the room. "Stop flirting. Get in the car," he said sharply, completely disregarding Tyson's outraged and flustered protests as he marched down the stairs and out the door.

Kai strode into Hilary's bedroom, zipped up the suitcase and heaved it off the bed, ignoring _her_ protests too. Turning to her, he said shortly, "One minute, or we're leaving without you." Then he strode back out of the room and down the stairs again with her bright purple suitcase in hand, almost as if it didn't weigh about twenty kilograms (which it did).

Hilary huffed and puffed and glared at his disappearing shadow, before rushing back into the bathroom to check if she'd remembered her toothbrush.

* * *

Bryan roughly tore his headphones off and cussed as the captain started speaking through the intercom. He _hated_ those in-flight announcements - the volume of the movies was _never_ loud enough, so you had to turn the headphones up, and then the captain's voice was always _too_ loud in comparison, leaving hordes of passengers with shattered eardrums. Apparently, they were high enough now for everyone to remove their seat belts, although, honestly, he never had his on in the first place.

The four Blitzkrieg Boys, (well, Tala, Bryan and Ian) spent the morning fighting over who would have the window seats. However, turns out that it was pointless because, in the end, they were lumped together in the middle block of the carriage. So then the fight turned into who'd have the aisle seats instead. Of course, the smallest of the Blitzkrieg Boys rarely won a fight against the bigger two, so as it was now, Tala sat furthest to the left by the aisle. He was leaning on the arm rest trying to see past the curtain to the air hostesses, running his fingers through his hair with boredom; Bryan rolled his eyes - Tala really needed a haircut. Next to him sat Ian. He had his big headphones on and was playing Metal Gear on his PSP, paying no attention whatsoever to anything else around him. Next was Spencer. He was snoozing already and Bryan could hear the sounds of classical music coming out from the earphones around his neck. And then there was Bryan himself sat furthest to the right, also by the aisle, strumming his fingers agitatedly on the armrest and bored out of his mind. Moscow to Denver on three connecting flights was a really fucking long way to travel.

"Oi, Bry," Tala called across the seats.

Bryan lethargically turned his head around and looked over Spencer and Ian to his fiery haired captain. "What?" he grunted.

"Fancy a game, to make the flight a little more interesting?" he asked, with a sly smile on his face.

Bryan knew that smile - he wore it regularly whenever there was something mischievous going through his head. "What've you got in mind?"

"They're going to bring the drinks out, soon," he stated, nodding his head towards the front of the cabin where the air-hostesses were.

"So?"

"So I propose a challenge."

"What kind of challenge?"

"A challenging challenge," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Bryan rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna get to the point some time before we land, Tal?"

"I dunno, if you'd just shut up and listen, I'd tell you."

"If you'd just hurry up and tell me, I'd listen."

Tala rolled his eyes. "A competition. We're both pretty handsome young men - well, I am, anyway. You're alright, I guess." Bryan sniggered and rolled his eyes, silently cursing the two seats between he and Tala that were the only thing stopping him from giving the red head a thump on the shoulder. "We should see who can charm the most hostesses into giving us alcohol."

Bryan raised an eyebrow. "No contest. I get served all the time back home - you look about twelve. I'd beat you so bad I _might_ almost feel sorry for you. Almost."

"Fuck off," Tala said lightly, receiving a disgruntled look from an elderly woman nearby for his language and ignoring it completely. "It's not about how easy it is, it's about the charm. You've got to _charm_ them, Bryan, make them feel good. And then get the alcohol. Although, I can understand why that might be difficult for you," he jibed smugly.

Bryan's brow furrowed. "Why?" he demanded. "I can be charming."

Tala scoffed. "You're about as charming as Spencer's toe."

"Fuck you," Bryan said. He had _a lot_ more charm than Spencer's toe, thank-you very much, and he was damn well going to prove just how much more. "So what are we counting, then? Drinks or smiles and stuff?"

"Both. The performance as a whole."

"Right. You're on."

After a few minutes of competitive comments and glares, the curtains on Tala's side of the plane were drawn to the side and out came the drinks trolley, pushed by an attractive young platinum blonde with large, dark eyes. Tala immediately got his game face on and started off by just staring intensely at her, trying to catch her eye. It worked. He smiled roguishly each time she looked at him and, by the time she reached his row, Bryan could already see a light pink flush over her cheeks. He rolled his eyes and smirked, shaking his head and snickering as he listened in on Tala's small talk and smooth compliments.

It was the eyes, he decided. Every girl was a sucker for blue eyes, apparently, and Tala's sharp turquoise orbs were the perfect kind of penetrating that pinned you down and didn't let go. There was simply no escaping them. He almost felt sorry for the poor girl.

Five minutes later and Tala was sitting back smoothly in his seat with a bottle of light beer on his tray table and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Bryan rolled his eyes and wondered where the hell _his_ hostess was with the trolley so he could blow Tala's little show right out of the water. Bryan saw the curtains twitch from the corner of his eye, so he cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair in preparation, but when he heard Tala laugh outright he looked up, and cussed.

Well, that was just his fucking luck.

Oh no, it wasn't that the hostess was old, or ugly. _That_ he could have dealt with. No, the hostess was, in fact, a _host_. An effeminate, flawlessly skinned, perfectly permed host. Trying to ignore Tala's stifled laughter at the end of the row, but sending him heated glares every few seconds, Bryan waited for him to push the trolley down the aisle.

"Can I offer you anything to drink, sir?" Great, he even had the lisp to match.

Bryan looked up, utterly unimpressed and not even bothering to try and hide it. Tala's snickering in his ear wasn't doing him any favors. "I'll, er... I'll just have an orange juice," he said shortly, without even so much as a please or thank you.

One cheerfully bright glass of orange juice on the tray-table later, the red head smirked and looked sideways at Bryan with eyes that clearly said, Tala: One - Bryan: Zero.

* * *

Lee reached down under his seat and pulled out the complimentary blanket that airlines always provided, just in case a passenger wanted to sleep but found the cabin too cold to feel comfortable, which was always the case with him. It was _not_ the case, however, for his bright pink haired little sister who was currently passed out in the seat next to him, her head lolling about every now and then with the small bouts of turbulence.

He smiled faintly and shook his head as he draped the blanket gently over her and tucked it around her shoulders. He'd told Mariah to get as much sleep as she could last night, but did she listen? No, of course not. The silly girl was too excited that they'd all be leaving the next day. She'd fidgeted and laughed and bounced around the house as she packed in the early hours of the morning, keeping him awake as she chatted on about the tournament and this mystery two week-training thing that Dickenson had planned that they knew absolutely nothing about. She talked about the Bladebreakers and Rei. She fought with Kevin over his teasing her about Rei, and later teased Gary about airplane food shortages and whether he thought he could make it through the flight. In short, her current quiet, peaceful, sleeping form was a direct contrast to her earlier chaotic one.

In the dark quiet of the airplane cabin, Lee spared a moment to think about Rei. He was looking forward to seeing him again, too, although not quite in the same way that Mariah was, of course. He smirked. She was absolutely besotted with him.

Now, Lee took his role as her elder brother very seriously and didn't particularly appreciate anyone making their move on his baby sister. But, he also knew that Mariah was as stubborn and hard-headed as he and wouldn't think twice about Lee's disapproval if she didn't care to. So, Lee supposed that if there was anyone he'd have to tolerate being with her, then he would rather it was someone he knew to have integrity, kindness and strength, like Rei, over anyone else.

He was brought swiftly out of his musings by a series of sharp pokes in the back of his head. "What, Kevin?" he growled quietly, knowing that it was the little green haired annoyance in the seat behind.

"I'm bored."

"Watch a movie then."

"But there's nothing good on," he whined.

Lee grit his teeth. "Then play one of the games they have or something."

"But they're all boring."

"Kevin," he warned shortly, feeling another few prods in the head.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence. Lee didn't even need to turn around to know that there was a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Poke me again and you will lose that finger."

The poking stopped abruptly.

But then not five minutes later, he could feel Kevin's little feet prodding the back of his seat, instead. It was very annoying. Lee tried to calmly ignore the irritating sensation, hoping that the smallest White Tiger would soon bore of it, and move on to pestering Gary or something. But he had no such luck. So Lee decided to retaliate as best he could, instead. He pushed the small round button on his armrest down and forced his seat-back as far as it would go, impolitely invading the small, green haired bladers space. Lee felt enormously satisfied with the small 'thump' he heard when his seat collided with Kevin's thick head.

"Ouch! Oi, Lee! Stop it, man!"

"Sorry, what was that? Didn't quite catch it over the sound of the engines."

"Dude, move your seat back!" he hissed.

"What?"

"Ughh!" Lee smirked as he heard Kevin groan with annoyance and proceed to pound on the back of the seat. But he didn't mind so much now that _he_ was managing to get a laugh at Kevin's expense, too. Well, Lee did nothing but gave as good as he got, both inside the stadium and out.

* * *

"Right, that's it. That's my patience, gone. Michael, get up."

"Huh, what? Why _me_? Why not _him_?"

" _Now,_ Michael!"

"Argh, fine then!" Michael got up roughly out of his seat by the window and shoved his way past Rick in the seat next to him, and out into the aisle. When Judy told Rick to move over and sit in Michael's old seat, and she took his, Michael could only guess that _he_ was supposed to take Judy's seat by the window in the row behind. Awkwardly climbing his way over Eddy and Emily (with an irritated 'hey, watch it!' from the science geek when he budged her laptop with his backside) he threw himself down and glared heatedly at the back of Rick's head through the seats.

Idiot. If he'd just moved his stupid fat arm off the armrest, then Michael wouldn't have retaliated and Judy wouldn't've split them up like children in front of everyone. _He_ was the captain - he had dibs on the armrests!

"Eddy, budge over," he said, nudging at his team mate's arm on the armrest beside him with his elbow.

"No, man!" Eddy exclaimed, nudging back.

"Hey, I wanna rest my arm!"

"Dude, I was here first, use your own!"

"No, this one's mine!"

"I'm using it already!"

"Michael! Stop behaving like a child." Judy barked from the row in front.

Michael groaned and slouched down in his seat, utterly bored. He didn't care how long the flight from New York to Denver was (or short, in comparison to the flights everyone else was taking), it was way too long to be stuck in a crowded airplane cabin with absolutely nothing to do but watch old movies or play freaking _battleships_ on the small in-seat television. He'd already written off listening to his iPod, and he'd killed off Angry Birds already - those ugly, smirking, little green pigs were _dead_. Hell was he going to read a magazine. Michael was a man of action! He wanted something to _do._

"Eddy, play a game with me."

"Okay," said the tall, dark-skinned blader, "Truth, or dare?"

"Dare," Michael said, hoping for something good.

"I dare you to sit still and stop bothering me for the rest of the flight."

"Huh, what? Dude no! That's so lame - don't be an ass, man! Give me something good!" Michael shoved Eddy to the side, and Eddy shoved back. Before long, a small scale fight had broken out between the two and Emily was not impressed.

"Would you guys quit it already?" Emily called irritatedly from her laptop in the seat next to Eddy. "Geez! Anyone'd think you were like, five or something."

"Hey, don't shout at me," Eddy cried indignantly. "He started it!"

"Well I'm stopping it!" Emily snapped her laptop shut and glared at the two of them. Then, they were interrupted by the little ping of the seat-belt light being switched on, and the captain announced that they were beginning their descent.

"Finally," Michael groaned, throwing his arms up into the air.

Emily rolled her eyes, echoing the exact same sentiment in her head. He was such a pain sometimes! Sure, Michael had no problems sitting down and doing nothing when there was actually something to be done, like training, or test-runs - but force him into a situation where he had to sit down and do nothing and he was suddenly all antsy.

Emily couldn't wait to get off the plane… for all of their sakes.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** So Friday afternoon updates are working pretty well for me at the moment as far as Convergence is concerned. More Spaces content this time around, but there's new content next chapter. Also, you should be seeing a Gemini update this weekend so keep your eyes peeled._

 _As always, hope you guys had a lovely week._

 _~ Indie x_


	12. Grooves, Groans & a Gamble with Graffiti

**Chapter Eleven: Grooves, Groans and a Gamble with Graffiti.**

" _Girls hit your hallelujah... Girls hit your hallelujah - wuoooh!_ "

Johnny groaned and closed his eyes, restraining the urge to bash his head up against the backseat window. As if it wasn't bad enough that he struggled to sleep on the plane, he was now unable to pass out from exhaustion because of the noise. Johnny continued to stare at the window. He wondered vaguely how much force would be required to knock himself out.

" _'Cause uptown funk gonna give it to ya ~!_ "

The redhead clenched his teeth. Maybe he wouldn't have to knock himself out. Perhaps the better option would be to knock out the aggressor directly, he thought, glaring at the person to the left of him.

" _Saturday night and we in the spot!_ _Don't believe me just_ -"

"SHUT UP!" Johnny bellowed, causing everyone in the car to simultaneously jump about a foot in the air. He would have laughed at the expressions on their faces if he wasn't so pissed off and didn't have such a throbbing headache. "Turn the radio off," he ordered irritably at the driver.

Enrique was frozen mid-wiggle and he looked highly affronted, as though he couldn't believe Johnny had so rudely interrupted his groove.

"No, don't - don't you dare!" the blonde spluttered pleadingly towards the front of the car. The driver's fingers froze, hovering uncertainly over the dial. "I am enjoying this music," he insisted indignantly, swiveling around in the middle seat as much as his seatbelt would allow so that he could better glare at Johnny.

"Nobody else is," Johnny spat.

"Well duh, how can they with _you_ ranting over it?"

"…What?!" Johnny shouted, losing all composure and flying into a rage.

Over in the front passenger seat, Oliver gave a dignified 'tut' and turned back around in his seat again, gazing forward through the large, panoramic windscreen. The sight of the Rocky Mountains beneath the gloriously bright mid-western sun was truly breathtaking. Oliver sighed, looking down at his half-finished sketch in the journal on his lap. If only the road wasn't so bumpy with so many turns and twists…

In the seat behind, Rachel lost interest in watching Johnny and Enrique's argument and turned back around to gaze out of her window, too. Arguments between the pair were a common sight, and with the music in her earphones playing nearly full blast, she couldn't appreciate what was being said anyway. The brunette had been incredibly antisocial over their past two weeks in Germany and Oliver highly suspected it had something to do with Robert ('Would you back off! I just don't think something with so much power should be used so frivolously, okay?' she'd yelled, banging her fists on the table one night at dinner in response to a seemingly perfectly innocent comment from the German. Following this outburst, Rachel had gotten onto the next train to Dusseldorf and wasn't seen or heard from until her return the day before their flight to the USA).

Enrique, apparently deciding that Johnny's threats were nothing more than hot air in the presence of the BBA driver, recommenced his singing and dancing with as much gusto and flamboyance as his restrictive seatbelt would allow. Nothing was going to make him miss this beat-drop. It was his favourite bit of the song.

" _DON'T BELIEVE ME JUST WATCH!_ "

Johnny melted back into his seat in despair. He was just about to test his previous theory about passenger windows and heads when the car they were travelling in gave a sudden series of worrying jolts and judders. It moaned and groaned and slowed to a shaky stop; the driver was forced to jam the handbrake on to stop the car from rolling backwards down the incline. He tried twisting the keys in the ignition to restart the engine, one, twice, to no avail.

"Don't worry kids, I'll just have a look under the hood and see what the problem is," he drawled, opening his door. "Why don't you go on out and stretch your legs for a bit? Could be a while…"

Johnny had kicked his door open and was out of the car before the driver had even finished speaking. Anything to get away from that idiot blonde - sometimes he wondered why they were even friends. Johnny shielded his eyes from the blaring sunlight and took in his surroundings. Countless mountain peaks and spectacularly endless skies, a ravine that seemed to stretch out for miles… they were basically in the middle of nowhere. What a place to break down.

Oliver bounded out of the car not long afterwards, notepad and sketching pencil in hand. He sat neatly down on the cleanest bit of ground he could find and immediately resumed his sketch. Rachel emerged sometime later without a word, popped open the trunk of the car and rummaged around for her backpack. She pulled out a bottle of water and parked her backside against the nearest tree, taking sips, sulking and generally making her best effort to pollute the surrounding area with her bad mood.

"Eh, looks like the engine has overheated a bit," came the driver's voice from the other side of the car. "Doesn't seem too bad though, we can probably just wait it out. But I'll call ahead and let Mr Dickenson know, anyhow," he continued, climbing back into the driver's seat and rummaging around for his phone.

Johnny began to dig around the suitcases in the trunk, looking for their bags. Might as well eat something while they were out here…

Enrique came jiggling out of the car a few moments later, wiggling his pelvis and generally being a prat. Johnny tried his best to ignore him completely as he grabbed Oliver's navy shoulder bag and tossed it to him. Johnny found his own backpack and shouldered it, then tried to hit Enrique on the head with his. Unfortunately, the blonde chose just that moment to shimmy to the side, unwittingly evading the backpack. Then, to Johnny's horror, the Italian picked up a nearby fallen branch and began to use it in his dance routine as though it were some kind of pimp cane.

 _"If you sexy, then flaunt it! If you freaky, then own it -"_

Johnny slammed the trunk door shut and was just on the verge of taking Enrique's stick and beating him with it when he was called over to the front of the car.

"Hey? McGregor, is it?"

"Yeah? What?" he growled impatiently.

"Got something for you, from Mr Dickenson," he replied, handing him an envelope. "Almost forgot about it."

Johnny turned the envelope over in his hands, puzzled. It had 'Majestics' scrawled over the front of it and it was quite thick, giving him the impression that there was more than just a letter inside. Curiously, he slid his finger beneath the seal and tore the envelope open.

He vaguely registered hearing the sound of a key being turned and a car engine reigniting. However, it was only when he heard Enrique stop singing and start shouting, 'Hey! Where are you going? What about us!' that Johnny actually looked up. He was greeted with the sight of the BBA jeep bouncing merrily up the road, suitcases and all. Eventually, the sounds of _Uptown Funk_ faded away, leaving nothing behind but a stunned silence. The first to break it was Rachel, who had finally pulled out her earphones and stepped forward.

"Did that... Did that actually just happen?" she asked with a weak, disbelieving laugh. Apparently, the impossibility of what just happened was enough to shake her out of her bad mood.

Johnny stood there, gaping at the empty road ahead, catching flies.

"Hey, what's that in your hands?" Enrique asked, dropping his stupid pimp cane and walking forwards.

Oliver tugged the letter from Johnny's limp hands and turned back to the other two. He carefully pulled out the paper within, flattened it out and began to read.

"It looks like a letter," he said slowly. "A letter addressed to us..."

* * *

"ARRGHHH!"

The angry sound of Tyson Kinomiya's shouting echoed all around the clearing. Just to prove how far a reach his lungs actually had, several little birds in a tree some miles away took flight, fleeing from the assault of his violent sound waves.

"HOW could he DO this to us?!"

The blader himself was on a rampage, storming around the little clearing by the small mountain roadside, throwing his hands around angrily and glaring stormily down the road every now and then. "I mean, what the hell, man?! This is like Europe all over again!"

"Grrr - Tyson, would you stop pacing already?!" Hilary snapped, trying to dog his steps and grab the papers he was crunching up in his hand. "Let me see the letter!"

"Argh, get off, Hilary!" Tyson said, tugging his arm away from her and continuing to pace, dodging her continued attempts and ranting on.

Max just huffed under his breath and plopped himself down onto a fallen log next to Kenny and the bags, lifting his eyes to stare into the tall, green trees before him. Gosh, everything was so _green_. Rei pinched the bridge of his nose trying to keep his cool, while Kai pretty much remained stationary at the side of the road with his back turned on the bickering pair, his arms folded, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. There was a small vein working in his temple, the only clear sign of his huge irritation.

When they got off the plane at the airport in Denver, there were greeted by a guy with a BBA mini-bus who said he'd been sent by Mr Dickenson to take them to the mountain retreat. The Bladebreakers were happily bouncing along the mountain road, taking in the scenery and contemplating what might be in store for them at the training centre when the driver just randomly stopped the bus, announcing that it had broken down. When they'd all gotten out of the car with their things the driver wound down the window, called Tyson over, handed him an envelope, started the engine again and drove away. Just like that. After a few minutes of dumbfounded staring after the bus, Tyson opened the letter and read it.

And that's when the shouting started.

Kai wasn't really sure what Tyson thought his shouting would achieve – other than a black eye if he continued to assault his eardrums for much longer.

Quietly, Kai assessed the facts of the situation. First, they were all stranded here up in the mountains, with barely any food or water besides what the driver suggested they should buy from the airport for the journey; Second, there was no way to contact the BBA and ask them what the hell the game was with their drivers – Kai had already tried and every line was conveniently busy; Third, Tyson (and Kai was loath to say it) was _right_ – this situation really did stink a whole lot like Europe two years ago; Meaning that, fourth, Kai needed to get his hands on that letter to figure out just _exactly_ what they should all do next.

"Tyson," Kai said in a clipped tone, spinning on his heel and striding over to the centre of the clearing where Hilary was still trying to wrestle Tyson for the letter. Holding his hand out to them, he said, "Hand it over."

Hilary huffed her breath into her fringe in annoyance at not being able to see the letter with her own nosy eyes as Tyson handed the papers over to their captain. After smoothing out the creases against his thigh, Kai walked a few paces away from the pair and, ignoring Rei who had just come to peer around his shoulder, he scanned the contents with his own eyes, scowling.

 _Bladebreakers,_

 _Before all else – fear not; you have not been abandoned in the mountains! This is all part of my plan and everything is under control._

 _You may recall in our previous correspondence mention of a training retreat the BBA and I have scheduled here at our quarters in the Rockies. As it happens, the first training challenge begins now._

 _Several miles away, a campsite has been established where you will find food and provisions for the rest of your journey, as well as beds to stay for the night and a letter detailing your task for tomorrow. The location of this campsite has been marked on the map provided._

 _Best of luck, and do try to make it there by nightfall. Work together and nothing will stand in your way. Remember – there's no 'I' in 'team'!_

 _Yours,_

 _S. Dickenson._

"Here," he said gruffly, handing the letter over to his Chinese team mate before turning to the other piece of paper in his hands. It was indeed a map of the mountain-side forest they were in, complete with contour lines, landmarks, footpaths, etc. Kai smirked wryly at it – Dickenson had very kindly marked their current location and their destination on the map, each with a bold red letter 'x'. A meandering dotted line joined the two.

"So," Rei said, peering down at the map in Kai's hands as the dual haired captain began turning on the spot and glancing side to side, trying to get oriented with it, "we're following the trail, then?"

Kai glanced sideways at him. "Guess so."

He sighed and ran a tired hand through his messy hair. He really didn't have the patience to be playing that old man's foolish games today – after fifteen hours of air travel with his boisterous team, Kai was not at his most patient or understanding. Hell, he was _never_ at his most patient or understanding. However, throwing a tantrum wasn't going to get them to the safe point before nightfall – presuming it even _was_ safe from all the wild dogs and heaven knows what else that roamed the forests up here. Rolling out the muscles in his shoulders and deciding that he'd find a way to take his frustration out on Tyson along the way, Kai turned around to face the rest of his team and spoke.

"Alright, listen up. Looks like Dickenson thinks he's got a sense of humour," he said condescendingly, clearly unamused. Perhaps the man was going senile in his old age? "Apparently, the training retreat he mentioned starts _now_. We've gotta make it to some camp-site in the woods before nightfall. So," he said, ignoring Tyson's groan and Kenny's stammering concerns and questions. Turning on the spot and beginning to walk towards the trees, he said, "Everyone grab your stuff and let's get mov –"

"Hey hey hey, wait there just a second," Hilary interrupted, squaring her shoulders and placing her hands on her hips. "What do you mean? We're not just – just going straight out into the woods with no idea where we're going, are we?!" There was an unmistakable trace of panic in her voice.

Kai rolled his eyes before turning to face her. Wiggling the paper between his fingers, he said, "We have a map."

"So, what, we're just walking?!" she cried, with an edge of hysteria creeping in. "Out into the woods?" She looked over to Max pleadingly, who just shrugged apologetically in return and shouldered his rucksack.

"Geez, Hil, chill out," Tyson said. "It's gonna –"

" _Chill OUT?!"_ Hilary screeched. "Just two minutes ago you were shouting and stomping and freaking out yourself!"

"I wasn't freaking out, I was just pissed off! But I'm over it now," he said indignantly, before shrugging and picking up his bag, too. "Not sayin' I'm happy about it, though. This is no way to treat a world champ…"

Hilary blinked. Why on earth were they all being so cool about it? "Just who does Mr Dickenson think he is, anyway?" she continued, not moving from the spot she was stood in. "Abandoning us all out here – how could he be so irresponsible?"

"I agree," Kenny chipped in. He too was standing resolutely by the road, refusing to move just like Hilary. "At least in Europe we could always drop in on the BBA centers for help – we're all on our own out here, and Dizzi can't get a hold of anyone!" Besides, he _hated_ camping and trekking and anything else that involved the 'great' outdoors.

Hilary made a despairing noise, which Tyson laughed at and Kai ignored.

"Come on, Hil, it'll be fine," Max said consolingly, walking over to her and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Dickenson wouldn't just leave us all here if it wasn't safe. Besides, he said he's got it all planned out – it's not like he hasn't done this before. Don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you! We've got your back." He offered her a wide smile to try and calm her down.

"I don't wanna be the one to cut this fuzzy little moment short," Kai interrupted, folding his arms, "but if we don't get moving _now_ we probably _won't_ make it there before it gets dark."

"Huh? How far do we have to go?" Hilary asked.

Kai considered the map. "…Looks about six miles, maybe seven."

"Seven?!" Hilary screeched. Then she shrugged Max's hand off her shoulder, picked up her own bag and began to stride over to Kai on the other side of the clearing. "Well what the hell are we waiting for, then?!" She took Kai by the shoulders, spun him around and gave him a gentle shove into the trees. "Let's get moving, guys, we don't have all day!" she ordered over her rapidly retreating shoulder.

Tyson and Max exchanged mystified expressions, before shrugging it off and laughing to themselves. Girls – go figure. Rei brought up the rear and made sure nothing was left behind as they trailed into the woods, hoping that Kai's map reading skills hadn't lessened any since the time they all spent in Russia.

* * *

"This is fucking ridiculous."

"I know. I'd even say it's as ridiculous as your face."

"Hm, wonder if it's as ridiculous as _my_ fist in _your_ face?"

"Ha! That _would_ be ridiculous – it wouldn't even happen!" Ian dared, with mischief in his eyes.

"Don't push me, you little runt!" Bryan growled, clutching his fist hard around the letter as his irritation rose.

"Hey, knock it off!" Tala snapped, staring them both down with cold blue eyes. "Acting like fucking children, the pair of you."

Bryan frowned and cussed and muttered under his breath while Ian snickered. Tala rolled his eyes and snatched the note and the map away from Bryan. As hilarious as this situation _might_ have been, he wasn't in the mood to be playing games with the old man.

"No luck, then?" Tala said, addressing Bryan who was trying to make contact with the BBA on his cell phone.

"All the lines are busy."

"Figures," Tala said, but more to himself than anyone else. "Okay, everyone shut up, I need to concentrate." Tala plopped himself down on to an old tree stump and stared off vacantly into the distance as he tried to access the chip Boris planted in his brain.

It was a really, really weird sensation – like having two minds, almost. There was his normal one, and then there was this 'computer mind' where everything he saw was written in a kind of visual computer code. It was an ingenious piece of technology, if he was honest. This small, wireless chip in his brain pretty much allowed him to run like a master computer – the chip was the circuitry and _he_ was (to follow the metaphor through) the machinery. With it, Tala could access pretty much any piece of technology linked by satellite: he could make phone calls, send emails and texts, use the internet, get into CCTV devices, hack into various government databases, acquire satellite readings and locations… You name it, and chances were Tala could probably do it.

However, it also gave him one hell of a headache afterwards, so he generally preferred not to take advantage of it. But Dickenson had just about pissed him off with this little joke of his and he wasn't about to sit back and follow his little trail of breadcrumbs through the mountains like some weird-ass new-age fairytale without giving the old man a piece of his mind.

Narrowing the virtual map inside his mind down, Tala began to search through all the nearby computer addresses for ones belonging to the BBA only. Then, he narrowed it down again to the ones with the heaviest security, until finally he located the laptop belonging to Mr Dickenson. A quick GPS scan revealed that the old man was somewhere in these mountains himself, less than twenty miles away.

Focusing his mind, Tala concentrated and began to hack his way through Mr D's complex defenses and firewalls and into the main frame. Successfully completing that, he mentally smirked as he gained complete control over the entire device. With absolutely no ceremony whatsoever, Tala shut down each and every running program so all that was left was a blank screen on Mr D's monitor. He snickered in his mind as he saw Dickenson's expression of shock and confusion through the little inbuilt camera as the screen went blank. The old man tried pressing a few buttons randomly on the keyboard to wake the laptop up.

Tala decided to play with him for a bit. Concentrating on what he wanted to say in his mind, he sent through the following words and formed them on the screen:

– _Hello there, Stanley. –_

Mr Dickenson's eyes bulged with shock as he mumbled, "What? Wh - what's going on?!"

– _Tut, tut. Abandoning a bunch of kids in the mountains like this... a little reckless, don't you think? A little risky, perhaps? –_

"Who - who are you, what do you want?"

– _Me? I'm just an old friend. –_

Dickenson blinked and looked puzzled, like he was trying to figure out just how many 'old friends' he had that could so easily hack through his security like that. But there weren't any. Then he blinked again, as if hit by a sudden horrible realization. "...Barthez?"

It was Tala's turn to blink with confusion. The name sounded slightly familiar, but he couldn't place it. Barthez…who the hell is Barthez? Then he cringed inwardly as he felt his thoughts appear on the screen before Dickenson. Damn, he'd really have to get a hang of separating his thoughts from his intentions… But then he'd need like, a third mind or something, and he wasn't sure even _he_ could keep track of _that._

– _Barthez...who the hell is Barthez? –_

"Not, not Barthez? Then just who is this?!"

– _It's Tala. What are you playing at Dickenson, just leaving us out here? –_

"Tala…? How on earth are you managing this, my boy? …The chip?"

– _I'm not your boy. And that's not important, either. Just what's the deal here? –_

"...This is really quite something, Tala. Are you still in the woods, and _contacting_ _me_? How remarkable…." His face had taken on a more curious, even admiring expression now and Tala kicked himself. Well, clearly he'd lost the surprise and intimidation factor, now.

– _Look, could you just tell me what sort of game you think this is? –_

Dickenson smiled knowingly. "Well, everything has been explained in the letter, Tala. You're a smart young man, I'm sure you can figure it out."

What the… Tala bristled. Was Dickenson _patronizing_ him?! Oh no. Oh hell no.

– _My team and I are not interested in playing these childish little games. –_

"Well, I'm afraid you should be, Tala, if you want to make it to the safe point before nightfall. It becomes rather difficult to follow a map, you see, in the dark." Dickenson was unable to keep the chuckle out of his voice. "Don't worry, the other seven teams are also in these woods and have exactly the same task. Perhaps you'll meet them along the way." Then he stood up and walked right out of Tala's vision, so he was left staring at an empty office chair. But he heard the old man's voice call cheerfully, "Oh, and if you could vacate yourself from my laptop by the time I return, I would be very grateful."

Tala was left to stare at the empty seat in annoyance. He'd just been smiled at and shuffled to the side like he was a small child trying to be threatening – and after such a display as well! Tala wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Had he… had he lost his edge? Surely not. No, it had to be that the old man was just becoming a little senile in his latter years, that would be it. Hell, Tala had just hacked his way through the director of the BBA's computer, from his _fucking_ _mind,_ and found it no more difficult than opening a door with his hands. That was bloody impressive stuff, thank you very much.

With his pride restored, Tala left the laptop and returned his consciousness to his physical body in the woods, where he was greeted by the horrifying sight of Ian and Bryan's faces, a mere handful of inches away from his own.

"Fuck!" Tala recoiled and fell backwards off the log, landing roughly on his back and letting him know that he'd fully returned to his senses in the physical world. His head gave a single, almighty throb. "What the hell, guys?!"

Bryan and Ian straightened up, snickering cruelly. Ian dropped the mud covered twigs he was holding and brushed the dirt off his hands before saying to Bryan, "See? I told you, he like, totally blanks out – doesn't have a clue what's going on around him!"

Tala straightened up as Bryan smirked, saying, "Tal, you're lucky we're just your friends. _Anyone_ could have done _anything_ to you while you were gone."

Narrowing icy blue eyes in suspicion, Tala picked himself up of the floor and glared at them. Over their shoulders, he saw Spencer leaning against the trunk of a tree with his arms folded and an obviously forced, disinterested expression on his face. The fact that Spencer seemed so unwilling to meet Tala's eye only made him even more suspicious. "Okay, so just what the fuck have you two been doing?" Tala accused sharply.

"Nothin'!" Ian exclaimed, holding his hands up in front of him like an innocent man held at gunpoint. "Why, what've _you_ been doing – watching porn while we've all been standing around or something? It's rude not to share, y'know."

Tala aimed a half-assed slap towards the back of Ian's head, which he ducked, before answering. "I've been chatting with Dickenson, actually."

"Oh, you get anywhere then?" Bryan asked, completely unable to mask the amusement in his eyes.

"Not at all. So I guess we'd just better get a move on and… alright, what the fuck are you all laughing at? Spence," he said sharply, turning to the blonde as Ian and Bryan started snickering under their breaths again, "what have they done?"

The blonde composedly opened his mouth to speak, but then he hurriedly looked away, trying, and failing, to repress a hearty laugh. Pissed off and confused to no end, Tala pulled out his cell phone and tried to hold it away from the light so he could see his reflection in it, guessing there was probably something on his face.

There was.

Apparently, during his time away Ian and Bryan had thought it would be a good idea to take some mud and deck Tala out in some camo suitable for their trek through the mountains. Only, this camo was actually the impressively detailed (considering their instruments) sketch of a giant crude _penis_ across his face.

Feeling his brain give one more huge throb, he slowly turned around to the couple of pranksters and gave them what he hoped was a very threatening look promising much pain and despair, before snatching away the map from Spencer and beginning to make his way further into the woods, following the trail Dickenson had marked and ignoring the sniggers that trailed behind him.

Oh just you wait, he thought as he tried to wipe away what he could as he marched ahead, just you _wait_ until you go to sleep tonight.

* * *

Emily rolled over in her sleeping bag and tried to get comfortable. She wiggled her way around a particularly hard, pebbly bit of ground before finally reaching a reasonably comfortable position.

It had taken the All Starz five hours to reach what they assumed was their designated safe-zone for the night. After walking in circles for the entire afternoon, the group eventually stumbled upon what seemed to be a sheltered grove of some kind. There was a pile of equipment mounted up near the base of one of the trees, including three 1-gallon water bottles, a pile of sleeping bags, a crate in which they later discovered held tins and packets of non-perishable foodstuffs, and a box of matches.

Tired, aching and missing the comforts of home, the team went about setting up their campsite, grumbling all the while. They sat down to a humble meal of beans and rice before Emily excused herself to her sleeping bag for an early night.

"…Then the batteries in her flashlight died and she was left alone in the dark. Terrified, she blindly reached out in the dark and stumbled forwards, trying to escape from the wet, ragged breathing behind her. But it was too late. She -"

The little redhead rolled over in her sleeping back once more and closed the zip over her head to muffle out the sounds of whatever stupid ghost stories the boys were telling each other. She didn't want to lose face in front of her team and tell them that the thought of sleeping out in the open like this scared her enough, without their stupid stories adding unnecessary fuel to her imagination. She closed her eyes tight and tried to ignore them. Eventually, she drifted off into an uneasy sleep, plagued by dreams of campfires that wouldn't stay lit, shadows that moved in the corners of her vision, the sounds of things being dragged off into the darkness, and a lingering, inescapable feeling that she was being watched…

Emily shuffled around as a strange noise lifted her senses out of the thick fog of sleep. Then her eyes snapped open and she stiffened as she heard the sound again.

At first she thought it was only heavy breathing, that it was maybe one of the boys still fast asleep on the plane next to her. Then she remembered with a jolt that they were up in the mountainous forests of Colorado with nothing but sleeping bags to protect them, where there were surely mountain dogs or wolves or – Emily's breath hitched in her throat. Oh my God.

What if it was a bear? What if that thing breathing outside her sleeping bag was a bear?

Straining her ears, she tried a little harder to hear outside her sleeping bag to her team members, but for all she could tell, it was silent – only the crackling embers of last night's fire and the mysterious breathing some meters away could be heard.

Was her team okay?

It didn't sound like the heavy breathing was too close to her so, with her heart pounding in her throat, Emily risked shuffling over onto her stomach and unzipping the bag, just wide enough to peek through. It was a good thing, she thought, that she'd zipped up her sleeping bag the night before, because her bright ginger hair would've made her an easy target… But Michael's blonde hair, (recently dyed for the tournament, he couldn't have his roots showing, after all) was also a bright colour. Not to mention Eddy's too, and Rick's white hair – oh my God, they were all easy targets! What was Dickenson _thinking_ , Emily thought venomously, not giving them any sort of real shelter!? He might as well have just put up a big, neon sign saying, 'Good morning forest wildlife, get your breakfast buffet here!'

She paused for another moment to make sure it was safe and then brought her sharp blue eyes to the opening of the bag. The first thing she saw was soft, curling smoke from the dying embers in the fire pit and the big steel water pot turned over on its side.

Turning her eyes to her right, it was all she could do not to let out a desperate squeal as she saw that Michael's sleeping bag was open, and he wasn't in it.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Bit of an early update for you guys today. :3  
_

 _I am pleased to announce that the drafting for the second installment of Only The Young is now underway. I'm having quite a bit of fun with it. I've also been playing around with ideas for 'origin' stories for my Bega lot. They may or may not make it out here, its a case of watch this space, really._

 _Lastly, I'd like to thank **Raider3** , , **adbhut** , and **some stuff** for their continued support with this series. I really appreciate your encouragement and comments, they mean so, so much to me._

 _For the rest of you, in case you didn't know, reviews are always welcomed! I hope you've all had a good week, and, I'll see you next time!_

 _~ Indie_


	13. Pranks for Breakfast

**Chapter Twelve: Pranks for Breakfast**

"… Michael!" Emily whispered, staring at her captain's empty sleeping bag and trying desperately not to panic.

 _Stop being silly_ , Emily told herself sternly. There could be all sorts of explanations for why Michael wasn't in his sleeping bag. He could be down by the stream taking a wash, or practicing some blading moves before the team woke up. Her fuzzy morning brain must just be playing tricks on her. There was obviously some rational explanation for her captain's absence – this cool rationality had just about calmed Emily down, until whatever it was that was breathing let out a grunt. Her fearful, paranoid ears told her that it was not a grunt but a growl, a very hungry growl.

Quickly, she scanned their little camp for signs or Eddy or Rick but she couldn't see them either. Panic started to set in as whatever it was that was breathing gave another grunt–growl. Instinct told her that she had to get out of there, and fast. But she had to find her team first – they just _had_ to be around somewhere, and safe! She risked calling out to them, just to see if they were nearby and hiding, just like her.

"...Guys?!" she squeaked, and paused to listen for an answer or if there was any change to the sound of the breathing. There wasn't any of either. "Dammit, where _are_ they?"

Slowly, carefully, Emily unzipped the sleeping bag the whole way and, once she was sure she hadn't been noticed, eased her way out, twisting her head around to the left and right to make sure the coast was clear. Getting to her feet, she shoved her sneakers on and shuffled silently over to her backpack and pulled out her beyblade and launcher, hoping that if there really was a pack of wolves or a bear, she might be able to defend herself with Trygator, or at least buy some time to climb a tree and get out of harm's way.

She winced, remembering the last time she tried climbing a tree – she still had a long, ugly scar along her ankle for her efforts.

Emily's bright eyes widened as her gaze lighted on something on the ground – a dirt trail leading from where she was sure Rick's sleeping bag was last night, disappearing into the trees. Trying to ignore the fact that it looked like he'd been dragged off into the forest, she swallowed, steeled up her nerve and followed the trail, knowing that right now it was her best bet of finding one at least one of her team members, even if it was only that stupid Rick Anderson.

 _What was she doing?_ Emily thought of all the countless movies she'd seen with Michael and the guys on their days off, where the stupid girl always died first because she went off to investigate the strange noises. When she heard some leaves rustle and a twig crack behind her, she quickly decided that going forward and following the mysterious trail was definitely the way to go.

Not twenty feet down the way, Emily became certain that the breathing was getting louder, but she couldn't see anything big enough to be a bear so she kept going forward, her blade positioned in front of her and ready to launch, just in case. The sound growled again but, closer up, she realized it didn't sound so much like a growl as it did a … a _snore._

"...Hello?" she called out gently, hoping for a reply. But no such luck. So, with her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, she pressed forward and kept her eyes sharp as she scanned the trees and undergrowth. But not sharp enough, apparently, as the toe of her tennis shoes caught something large and caused her to lose her footing and stumble.

"Eep–!" she cried, knees hitting the ground sharply, but then she slapped a hand over her mouth and held her breath when the crack of another twig behind her told her that _something_ was there.

Turning around slowly, Emily was greeted with the sight of nothing but rustles in the undergrowth. She glanced down to see what she'd tripped over and squinted with confusion in her eyes when all she saw was something that looked like a large, squishy, green sausage with an unruly white tuft poking out of the top. Wait a second….

"Rick?"

With the echoing crack of another broken twig, all rationality was swept away from her head – she was _sure_ there was something in those bushes and she _had_ to get herself and Rick out of here as soon as possible. She did _not_ want to be around when that bear or whatever it was came to finish whatever they were doing with Rick out here.

"Rick!" she hissed, trying to prod him awake with her foot. But the brute slept like a log! She shook faster as some bushes behind her began rustling a little harder. "Rick! Wake up, you stupid lump, we have to get out of here!"

She could've cursed creatively enough to make Michael and Steve proud when all the white headed blader did was grunt-snore in his sleep and roll over inside the sleeping bag. Well, at least she knew where the breathing and the growling came from. But those cracking twigs, and all the rustling, there was definitely some kind of animal out there and – Emily lifted her launcher and stared off to the right, backing away slowly. It was _there,_ she was sure of it.

"Emily… what are you –?"

"– Waaahhhhh!" she shrieked, having just backed into something much bigger than her. She spun around wildly and launched her beyblade as a knee–jerk reaction, screaming as she backed away. It was only when she saw her gangly team-mate Eddy duck the aqua blade with an incredulous yell that she realized that there wasn't an animal in the bushes after all.

"Eddy!?" she cried hysterically. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"What am _I_ doing?" Eddy countered, still crouching down and shielding his head with his arms, looking at Emily as though she'd lost her mind. "What are _you_ doing?! You - you just launched your beyblade! At my face!" He said, his eyes twitching over to look at the damage she had done to the tree behind him where his head had been just moments before. There was a giant ugly tear from where her beyblade had hit it before ricocheting off to a tree behind her and getting wedged in the trunk of a third. It was still smoking.

"I thought you were a bear!" she cried apologetically.

"You thought I was a _what_?"

"A bear!" Emily threw her little hands into the air in frustration. "I woke up and I heard lots of noises and I was all alone and Rick's stupid bag had been dragged off into the woods so I had to go and investigate –" Emily was so zoned in to her ranting that she didn't notice Eddy's eyes drift warily off her face and come to rest at a point just over her shoulder. She also missed the little warning shake of his head. "… and just _what_ _were you doing sneaking around out here anyway_ –"

"RROOAAGHHH!"

"AAHHHHHH!" Emily jumped about a foot in the air and screamed at the top of her lungs, completely startled by the loud roar behind her. Spinning around wildly, she realized that what had roared behind her was in fact her bed-headed blonde captain, not a bear or a wolf or any other wild animal. She had about a split second to watch a wicked grin creep over his face as he broke out into a laugh before her flailing arms caught him around the face, backhanding him spectacularly.

"Hahahahaaarrrghhbgn! By _nose!"_ Michael yelled, stumbling backwards and falling over Rick in the sleeping bag, landing roughly on his rear end.

"Michael?!" Emily yelled, her eyes halfway between fear and anger. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Ugh, you… I dink you broke by nose!"

"Well – well good!" Emily spluttered wildly. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Fuwaah, wuhh, whaz goin'on?" Rick mumbled disorientedly from the sleeping bag, having just been woken up by Michael's clumsy feet. "What'm I doin' here? What…" he looked around at Michael and burst out laughing. The All-Starz captain had just picked himself off the ground and was trying to staunch a heavy nosebleed, wincing pathetically. "Hahaha, what happened to _you,_ pretty boy?"

"Shud ub, would'ya?" Michael said, gingerly poking at the bridge of his poor, cruelly mistreated nose. But any pangs of guilt Emily would've felt disappeared when he muttered something containing the words 'backfire' and 'prank'.

Eddy sighed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly at Michael's fumbled explanations about how he wasn't trying to prank _her_ but the idiot in the sleeping bag, Rick's ensuing argument with him over it, and Emily's ranting over the pair of them. As funny as it was, it was also pretty embarrassing. After all, from the information pack they found along with the camping materials at their current safe point, they did have another eight or nine mile hike to the next one – and he'd be willing to bet that the other teams were making a better use of their morning than playing pranks on each other.

* * *

"Dammit Tala, get me down already!"

"You know... I _still_ don't think I heard a 'please' in there."

"And you ain't gettin' one, either!"

"Or a 'sorry' for that matter."

"When I get down there I'm gonna - fuck you, stop laughing!"

"Ha, well, I've had better offers, but –"

"Just shut up and get me down or I'll – ah! _Stop fucking throwing rocks at me, Bryan!"_ Ian yelled.

"Yeah? You gonna come down here and make me?" Bryan goaded with his grey eyes sparkling cruelly, aiming another pebble at the smallest Blitzkrieg Boy, which he just narrowly managed to dodge.

"Argh, you know what, fuck the both of you," Ian spat irritably. Then he turned imploringly to Spencer who was packing up the last of the camping gear and whined, "Pleeease Spence, get me outta this tree, would ya?"

When Ian woke up this morning, he thought nothing much of interest was going to happen. He'd go down to the stream for a wash and a piss, argue with the rest of his team over the remaining energy bars for breakfast and then probably lose said argument. Maybe he'd manage to rig up Bryan's sleeping bag before he woke up - tie the zips up so he couldn't get out or something, and get a few cheap laughs before running for his life.

Instead, he woke up about thirty feet in the air, tied to a tree, balanced precariously on one of the branches while a tiny brown speckled bird perched on his nose and poked through his hair. After his disbelieving yells had subsided, Tala emerged from the tent with his bright red hair ruffled all over the place and a smug grin plastered around his face. Needless to say, it didn't take Ian long to figure out just who was responsible for his current predicament.

Ian was wrapped snugly into his sleeping bag and tied very securely to the tree with a length of climbing rope. After what must have been a sold fifteen minutes of frenzied writhing around, he'd managed to wiggle his arms free, but he couldn't see or feel the knot anywhere, so it was hardly like he could get himself down.

…..Seems like Tala wasn't joking about getting revenge for his little joke yesterday. So, almost an hour later he was still up there and absolutely no closer to being let down.

"Seriously, Tala, just cut me down," Ian begged. "I gotta take a leak, man!"

In reply, the Blitzkrieg captain just ran fingers through his wild hair, apparently trying, once again, to tame it a little. It still wasn't working.

Thoroughly ignoring Ian, he turned to Bryan and said, "Bry, help Spencer with the last tent. I want us to be packed up and moving as soon as we can." Ian winced as Bryan did so, but not before aiming one last stone at him. The bastard. "Ian," Tala said sharply.

"Oh, so you're talking to me now are you – ahh, hey man!" he yelled, wide eyed as Tala's small tactical folding knife whizzed through the air and wedged itself in the bark just a couple inches left of his face. Had he lost his mind?! And how the hell did he get that through the airport security anyway? "Watch it before you throw that thing at me! You could'a taken an eye out!" he snapped, waving his arms around madly. "I need these eyes!"

"Just cut yourself down and let's get moving," Tala barked up the tree, folding his arms and getting his captain voice on.

"Pah," Ian muttered to himself as he twisted around to grab the knife and began to cut through the rope, "a little warning next time'd be nice." Unraveling it, he looped it securely over the branch, wiggled out of his sleeping bag and tossed it down the tree, aiming for Tala's head. He missed. Then he swung his legs over the side, grabbed the rope, tied himself a quick slip knot around the branch and slid down, jumping the last five or six feet. When he saw Tala advance a step towards him, Ian backed away. "Argh, alright, jeez! I'm sorry for drawing a dick on your face, okay? But I _really_ gotta go!"

Dropping Tala's knife on the ground, Ian disappeared a several feet into the bushes to relieve himself, and as the sound of his captain's arrogant victory chuckle disappeared he was already formulating possible pranking retaliation plans.

Returning to camp, he found Tala already debriefing the group on the route they'd be taking to the next point.

"…And apparently, we should be meeting up with another team somewhere along the way today, so let's try and be, uhh… _nice._ "

"Pahaha, fat chance of that happening," Ian snickered. "You going soft on us, Tal? I thought we were gonna strut in an' show the competition who the top dogs are."

"We are," Tala said shortly, folding his arms and closing his eyes. "But what we're _not_ gonna do is strut in, antagonize everyone and make a bunch of enemies. We're not pawns anymore. This," he said, opening his eyes and leveling a stare at Ian, "is a friendly competition. So, we will be nice." Then he smirked, "But not _too_ nice. We've got an image to keep after all. Right, let's move out!"

Ian snapped out a salute and an 'aye-aye sir' before hitching up his rucksack and his trousers, and following the team.

They didn't have an easy journey, though. Apparently, Tala didn't see fit to stick to the trail marked out for them this time – he intended to cut straight through a great section of it and save half the distance. Unfortunately, this meant trudging through weeds and undergrowth, which took almost twice as long anyway, so it didn't save them anything. It just took twice the effort. Stupid Tala.

"So," Ian began, tired of fighting his way through tree roots and brambles in silence, "What'd'ya think we'll be doing at this training thing?"

"Something useless, I'm sure," Bryan replied.

"It's not like we need it. We could'a just turned up at the tournament in two weeks and still beat everyone," Ian moaned.

"Exactly," Bryan agreed.

"I think it could have its uses," Spencer said quietly.

"Hhn?" Ian blinked. "But it's a waste of time!"

"No," Tala said without turning back to them, "Spencer's right. It'll give us the chance to study our opponents and catch on to their weaknesses. We don't know everyone in this tournament, and besides, there are a couple of new teams entered too. It'll give us the chance to get familiar with these unknowns."

"Humph… I guess so," Ian grunted. He would've said more, but he tripped over a particularly twisted tree root and only just caught himself. Stupid Tala, taking them off the track.

"So, like Spencer said," Tala continued, "We'll just have to make the most of it."

From the corner of his eye, Ian caught Bryan smirking. "What's so funny?"

"He's concerned about Tyson," Bryan jibed.

Tala prickled. "Don't be stupid Bryan, how could I be afraid of a rookie like Tyson?" he said hotly, not even bothering to turn around.

"I didn't say you were afraid, just concerned," Bryan replied coolly. Then he muttered down to Ian, smirking, "Kai says he's gotten stronger."

"Kai _says_ that he's not bad," Tala corrected loudly.

Bryan snorted. "Yeah, which we all know that, in Kai-speak, means he must have had his ass kicked by him at some point, or something close enough."

"Bryan," Tala sighed irritably, "We all know that Kai's the one with the inferiority complex when it comes to Tyson, not me. I won't deny he's got spirit, but I'm the better blader. He only won that last round because everyone's bitbeasts and their long-lost aunt decided to gang up on me and take me down." The redhead was quiet for a few minutes, before saying thoughtfully, "Besides, I don't regret losing that match."

Ian could feel the atmosphere getting serious. Ian didn't like complex emotions – never did – he just didn't know how to cope with them. So, he cleared his throat to remove the tension. "But that won't be happenin' again right?"

"Of course not," Tala said, flicking his hair, his casual arrogance now back in place, "You know what they say about lightening. Kinomiya's luck won't be striking me twice, mark my words."

* * *

"Dammit. Missed again."

"Oh, Kevin would you stop!" Maria said irritably, snatching the little hand-carved slingshot out from his hands.

"Oi – you give that back!"

" _You_ shouldn't be cruel to the animals!"

"I'm not being cruel! I'm just givin' them what they deserve!" he countered, glaring at the little squirrel that had just tittered off into the heights and safety of the trees. "Gnawing on my beyblade, jumpin' in my breakfast… They're furry little bastards the lot of them, and I –"

"Kevin!" Lee warned, his eyes flashing.

But Kevin just lagged a few steps out of arms reach and continued muttering and cursing under his breath anyway. He pulled his beyblade out of his pocket and started picking over the little tooth marks all around the edges of his attack ring. It'd take forever to buff those out! Stupid squirrels with their stupid teeth and dumb, stupid brains. As far as he was concerned, the world would be a whole lot better off without them.

Maria rolled her eyes and glanced upwards at the blindingly bright blue sky between the canopy of leaves, shielding her eyes against the glare. It can't have been that long past midday and already the glaring heat of the sun was making them irritable. Even under the cover of shade it wasn't any cooler. It was different to the summer heat in China – sharper somehow, and there wasn't much of a breeze reaching them between the trees.

There was a fresh, cool mountain brook that ran past their village back home in China. Before she or anyone she knew was born, the village's forefathers had gradually cut though the stone and bedrock and created a second stream. It ran right through the village, helping to irrigate the crops and fill wells. Eventually, this little hand-carved outlet grew and eroded its own path through the land, joining up to one of the lakes just outside their village. Children would go there to play and splash about in the cool waters while their mothers went about doing the chores. Mariah was one of those children once, and one of the things she most loved to do was frisk around the cool waters on a summer's day.

But the pure, fresh waters of the brook itself were always, and would always, be her favourite. There was just something different about heading out of the village and going up to the very roots of the river. She, her brother, Rei, and the rest of their little gang would bounce about in the waters, racing paper boats or searching for precious gems in the riverbed. They never found any, of course, but every now and then when they came across a stone that was the deep blue of midnight or a dark, sheer grey, polished like glass, they might as well have.

Once, Mariah found one that was a beautiful, burning shade of amber – she'd convinced herself it was gold and nobody bothered to tell her otherwise. Nobody had to. She was young, and the pure, simple, beauty of youth was something one always envied, but only after they realised they'd already lost it themselves.

"…Mariah?"

Mariah frowned. Wow. That sure was a mature thought. Was she getting old... already? But she was too young to be old!

"Mariah? Hey, Mariah!"

"Huh? Wha –?" She spun around and blinked with confusion when she noticed that she was at least ten meters away from her team. "What're you doing over _there?"_

" _We're_ followin' the map, duh," Kevin snarked, "What're _you_ doing?"

Mariah was about to bite back when Lee cuffed him around the back of the head and told him to stop antagonizing everyone already. That was her brother, she thought wryly – keeping the peace, doing it violently. "Hey Lee," she called, skipping her way back over to them. "D'you remember that time I thought I found gold up by the stream?"

The dark haired captain looked up, his dark gold eyes sparkling. "Heh, yeah, you had us all fighting some imaginary war over it, and –"

"Hahaha," Kevin butted in, "Wasn't that the time you twisted your ankle?"

"No! _You_ twisted my ankle, Kevin," Mariah replied, folding her arms. "Jumping at me from the trees like that – you're not as light as you look, you know!"

"You weren't complaining when Rei carried you home afterwards, though!" Kevin said smugly. And Mariah had to grudgingly admit that he had her beat there. She didn't complain. In fact, she played up the pain a little.

"Pff, whatever," she said, closing her eyes disgruntledly and playfully shoving him away by the shoulder. "So, what are we actually doing anyway?" she asked, looking up at Lee.

Her brother had just set down the large rucksack he was carrying, sat on it, and was now unrolling the map. As a rule, Lee's rucksack carried most of their water and food supplies, and Mariah carried what didn't fit. Gary was prohibited from carrying edible anything because it would be gone before anyone knew it. Kevin was just as bad and would be munching on the energy bars they found at the camp site the entire time. Apparently Lee was the only one who could really be trusted with their food for the day and Mariah tried to ignore the fact that _her_ bag, which now only weighed half as much as before, proved that Lee was right.

"I'm just trying to get a bearing on the map. I don't trust this footpath," he said, eyeing it with distaste. "It's too convenient."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Kevin huffed sarcastically. "I'd much rather struggle through a load of trees and branches than walk along this nice clear footpath."

But Lee just ignored him and glanced up unto the trees above. Mariah knew where this was going. "Oh, oh, let me!" she cried, skipping over to Lee and plucking the map from his hands. Circling the nearest tree and looking for the smoothest way to climb it, she said, "Don't give me that look, Lee. I'm feel like I'm getting old – but I'm too young to be old! So, I'm gonna prove it by climbing this tree." Then she shot up into the branches before anyone could say otherwise.

Jumping skillfully from branch to branch, she realised that she _hated_ these American trees. There were too many leaves and branches, and the twigs were snagging on her clothes and getting tangled in her hair. The fir trees were the worst, and there were _so_ many of them around.

Approaching the top of the tree, she stopped and perched on a sturdy enough looking branch, concluding that she could see far out enough to get a bearing on the map. The first thing she looked for was the river so she could orient herself north, and was quite pleasantly surprised when she realized they had less than halfway to travel before they reached the point on the map where their next safe point should be.

Rustling branches behind her told her that someone was coming up and, not two seconds later, Kevin appeared behind her.

"I hate America," he grumbled, picking pine needles out of his hair. She laughed, knowing his sentiment exactly. There were just too many of them on this stupid tree. She started running her fingers through her own tangled hair, trying to remove the pine needles that had worked their way in there.

"What're you doing coming up here anyway," she asked with a sideways glance under her lashes in his direction. "I'm not useless, I don't need help with the map."

"Quit bein' so catty, I'm not here to help you," he said irritably, giving his hair one last shake. Then he pulled out a handful of cereal bars from under his shirt and gave her a sly grin. "Just wanted to get Lee off my case. Swiped 'em while he wasn't looking."

Mariah eyed them hungrily. Sure, she'd eaten this morning, but Kevin hadn't – the squirrels saw to that. But she was still hungry. Besides, she left _her_ pack back on the ground. "Give me one of those and I won't tell Lee that you're a little thief." Kevin narrowed his eyes at her, and she decided to push the deal. "The one with the chocolate chips, please," she said smugly, noting that there was only one. There was a moment or two where Kevin tried to stare her down, but then -

"Tch, fine," he caved in.

Mariah swiped the cereal bar from Kevin's reluctant hands, grinning. She reckoned they had about five minutes before Lee began to get suspicious, so they tucked in, Kevin threateningly eyeing a nearby red squirrel the entire time.

Ten minutes later they were back on the track. It turned out that the convenient little footpath wasn't so far off course after all, so they decided to stick with it for another mile or so. Kevin was much more placid now that he'd eaten, and Mariah couldn't help but sneak Gary another couple of food items when Lee wasn't looking. He was very quiet today. It was probably the heat.

"Arghh, it's too hot!" Kevin moaned from somewhere behind her, just as she'd opened her mouth to complain about the exact same thing.

"For crying out loud, Kevin," Lee snapped. "If I hear you mention the heat _one more time_...!" He trailed off threateningly and shifted the weight of the rucksack on his shoulders.

Mariah sighed and thought of the stream back home, hoping it'd fool her into thinking she was cooler than she was. But her hair was too sticky on her shoulders and her imagination wasn't working the way it should. She raised her hands and lifted her hair up, meaning to tie it up and out of the way, but she couldn't.

"Huh? Waaah – my bandana!" she cried, patting her head where it _should_ be. She double – triple checked that it was actually gone. And it was.

Kevin laughed from behind her. "Aha, oh yeahh, I thought you looked different!"

"Oh, it's not funny, Kevin!" she said, spinning around and stomping her foot. She knew she was being a typical girl and overreacting, but it was her favourite headband! "I must have lost it back at tree, I'm going to look for it," she said, starting off in the other direction.

"Hey, wait! Mariah –" Lee called after her.

"I'll be two minutes, Lee! Just wait there!" she called over her shoulder, breaking out into a jog.

It wasn't long before she recognized the area where they stopped earlier – and not because she had a photographic memory or anything, but because there were a few discarded cereal bar wrappers lying around. Kevin must have dropped them when nobody was looking. Tutting her teeth at his littering, she scanned the floor for any signs of her pink ribbon. There being none, she took to peering into the trees instead. It seemed more likely to be up there, after all, since that stupid fir free had been tugging at her hair.

She had just positioned herself into a crouch, ready to jump into the tree, when a voice called out to her.

"Hey, excuse me!"

Mariah turned on the spot to look in direction of the voice. In the distance, she saw a mysterious looking young man with spiky blonde hair making his way through the trees towards her. Fluttering in the hands of this stranger was a long pink ribbon – her headband!

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Slightly early update for you. Thought I'd get my final proofreading and editing done tonight - I may or may not be busy on Friday evening knitting a scarf. Yep, that's right, I'm knitting a mother-trucking scarf people. It's gonna be a fox, with hand pockets! Hopefully. This is the first time I've tried knitting. Even though I've been practising all week, most likely I'll end up with a knobbly, distorted sock. Anyway, ya'll had better respect your grandmothers because this knitting lark is hella hard._

 _You'll most likely see me again over the weekend with an update for Gemini. If I get the time, I might even have a one-shot out that I've been playing with for a while. But you know what I'm like by now, so don't quote me on that._

 _As always, I hope you're enjoying the story. Reviews are very much appreciated. Hope you've all had a good week. See you next time!_

 _~ Indie_


	14. Crossing Paths

**Chapter Thirteen: Crossing Paths**

"...Is this yours?" the stranger asked Mariah in a voice like silver. He stopped a few feet away from her and holding the ribbon up.

"Ah! Yes - I thought I'd lost it… It's my headband," Mariah replied.

"I thought so," he said, trailing off with a small smile. It was all she could really see of his face. He was fair haired and olive skinned, and the line of his jaw somehow seemed to her to be both gentle and strong at the same time. But she couldn't see his eyes through the golden visor he wore. How mysterious.

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly in response to his remark.

"Oh...nothing, really. Just, this ribbon is pink, and pretty... and so are you." Mariah blinked, and blushed, not really sure what to say to that. "Here," he said, filling the silence and closing the gap between them, "Allow me."

Before she could move to stop him he was in front of her, brushing her long pink hair back from her shoulders and gently tying the hairband around her hair. He brought with him the smell of salt and spices, like the beach of some exotic shoreline. Then it was gone, and he was stepping softly back.

"There," he said, admiring his handiwork, "Much better. My name is Mystel, by the way."

Mariah blinked a couple of times, to clear the fog inside her head that, really, shouldn't have been there. "I'm Mariah," she said in response. Then she cleared her throat and renewed her gusto, "Oh, and er, thanks for finding this," she said, gesturing to her ribbon.

"It was my pleasure," Mystel replied, smiling beneath his mask. She wished he'd take it off... it made him difficult to read. "So, I take it you're blading in the Battle Royale, too?"

Mariah blinked, confused for a second, and then remembered again the reason they were all in these woods. Training for the tournament, which all the teams were invited to. "Well yeah," she said with a slight laugh, offhandedly waving her hand around. "Why else would I be in these mountains? I'm from the White Tiger team –"

"Ah, the bladers from China, right? I'm from –"

"Mariaaaah? Mariah!"

Mariah spun around in the direction of her short, loudmouthed teammate's voice. "I'm over here, Kevin!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. Moments later he came within sight, muttering away to Lee over his shoulder, with Gary bringing up the rear, trying, by inches, to sneak something out of the bag.

"I dunno, two minutes she says. _Two minutes?_ Lee, you live with her – should'a known by now that when a girl says two minutes, she – oh, well well well. What's this then?" he said suspiciously, noticing the masked stranger in their midst.

"This," Mariah said, beaming and gesturing energetically to the blonde, "Is Mystel! He's a hero – he found my bandana."

"Oh, well that's a relief. At least I know I'll be able to sleep tonight now that your headband is safe," Kevin snarked. He screwed up his little nose up as he took in Mystel's strange appearance, all the way from his long, white robes to the mask on his face.

"Hello," Mystel said, placing a hand on his hip and smiling. "You must be the rest of Mariah's team."

"That we are," said Lee, coming to stand before the pair. "We're the White Tigers. I'm the captain, Lee. And this Kevin and Gary. You've obviously already met my sister, Mariah."

Mariah rolled her eyes at his tone. My sister. In that, she's-my-sister-so-she's-off-limits kind of voice. Hah. He did this to every boy she spoke to – just what did he think of her, that she was some kind of… of _floozy?_

Lee continued, "So you must be blading in the tournament as well."

"Well yeah," Mystel replied, folding his arms casually. "Why else would I be in these mountains?"

Mariah laughed behind her hand, recognising the same words that she spoke not five minutes ago. Lee looked between the two, feeling a little like he was missing something. "What's so funny?"

"Hmm? Nothing," Mariah said. Then she turned to the masked blonde, "Hey, since you're here for the tournament, you've gotta have team too, right?"

"Yeah I've got a team. We're called –"

"Mystel! Mystel, where are you?!" the blonde looked over his shoulder at the sound of a timid little girl's voice shouting out for him.

"I dunno," he muttered, absentmindedly fiddling with one of his golden-looped earrings and looking sideways at Mariah. "Am I ever gonna get a chance to tell you what team I'm from?"

"Come on Mystel, seriously!" This time a male's voice was shouting out, with evident irritation. "You've really gotta stop wandering off on us like this. Mys- _tel!"_

"I'm over here, guys," Mystel called out lazily.

"Where?"

"Here! By the trees," he added, smirking.

"But there are trees everywhere!" cried the girl again.

Mystel, laughing, turned back around to the White Tigers and noticed Kevin looking at him, his violet eyes slightly narrowed. "...What?"

"Why're you wearin' that mask?" he asked bluntly.

"Oh! Because I err, I have uh... _terrible_ sensitivity to light," he said slowly, scratching the back of his head. "Yep. Pretty much kills me to look out into direct sunlight."

"Oh no," Mariah said mournfully. She thought he just had a really strange taste in accessories, that he had a flare for the dramatic. She didn't even think that mask had a purpose. She felt awful now! "That must be really horrible for you!"

"Nah," Mystel replied, putting on a bright, brave, but tragic smile, "It's just something I've learnt to live with."

"There you are!" called the same voice from earlier.

Mariah turned to look over Mystel's shoulders and she saw another young man with equally spiky blonde hair emerge from between the trees. In his shadow was a tiny girl with short, baby-pink hair and huge, round eyes. Last to appear was a tall young man dressed all in white. He had a shock of orange hair and he was smiling down at a… was that a bird? Mariah squinted. There was a tiny little forest bird just perched on his finger, chirping happily away without a care in the world.

"Hey," Mystel said over his shoulder as his team approached, "Took you guys long enough."

"Hello," said the other blonde as he looked around at Mariah and her team. "You've been busy on your travels, Mystel," he said dryly. "Looks like you've made some friends."

"Well, the letter did say we'd bump into some other beybladers today."

"We're the White Tigers," Lee said, introducing himself and holding out a hand to be shook by the other male. "I'm Lee, and this is Kevin, Gary, and my sister, Mariah."

"Pleasure to meet you all. We're the –"

"Wait!" Mystel cried out suddenly and stuck out a hand to cover the taller blonde's mouth, almost poking his eye out in the process.

"Ugh, what is wrong with you?" he said, swatting irritatedly at his smaller team mate.

But Mystel jumped backwards and dodged the blow, looking from right to left when he landed. "I'm just waiting for the next thing that's gonna jump out and interrupt us."

"….What're you _talking_ about?"

Mystel waited for a couple of seconds, listening around before replying. "Hmm, no, never mind. Doesn't look like it matters anymore." Then he cleared his throat and smiled. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. We're the BEGA Battalion," he announced, spreading an arm towards his team with an air of bravado.

The other blonde rolled his eyes, before saying, "Right. Anyway, yes we are the BEGA Battalion. I'm captain, Miguel. And this is Matilda, and Brooklyn. Unfortunately, you've already met Mystel. I hope he hasn't been bothering you too much," he added apologetically.

Mystel just smirked at Miguel's comment, while Mariah looked over at him sympathetically and said, "Oh no, not at all! He's been very helpful, actually."

Brooklyn, just taking notice of the conversation, looked up at Mariah. Then he said, "I know that look. He hasn't fed you that 'sensitive to light' story yet, has he?"

Mariah blinked, "Wha… so, you're not?" She looked over to Mystel in confusion and found he was chuckling to himself.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not."

"He's not," Brooklyn said shortly.

"Mystel, you're really terrible sometimes," said Matilda, speaking up in font of the group for the first time. "You shouldn't joke about things like that."

"Feel free to ignore anything that comes out of his mouth," Miguel added.

"Yep," Mystel agreed wryly. "Also, feel free to ignore me when I say that our next safe point is only less than two miles that way," he said smugly, gesturing somewhere to their left, "if we just walk straight ahead."

"Huh, how do you know that?" Mariah asked, her eyes growing large.

"I scouted it out earlier. It's right off the trail and there's a bit of a climb, but I'd wager it's quicker than the marked route," he replied with a smile and a shrug, scratching the back of his head lazily. "I was on my way back to find these guys when I bumped into you." Kevin muttered something about him being a show-off and Mariah elbowed him.

"How do you know we're even heading to the same point, anyway?" Lee said, folding his arms.

"We must be, why else would this Dickenson have us cross paths?" Brooklyn inputted airily. He gave a wave of his hand and the little bird flew away. Its cheery birdsong faded away in the distance.

"Speaking of which," Mystel said, placing an annoyed hand on his hip. Mariah couldn't help but notice that he did this a lot. "Does he do this often, your Dickenson? Just leave people stranded out in the middle of nowhere?"

"I'm not sure," Lee said, rubbing his chin. "But I know he did it to Rei's team two years ago, he left them to make their way through Europe on their own."

"Rei's team?" Miguel asked.

"The Bladebreakers." Lee clarified.

"The Champions," Brooklyn said distantly. "I understand they're taking part in this tournament, too?"

"Yep," Mariah replied brightly.

"That's good," said Brooklyn, smiling and seeming to exchange a look with his captain that she didn't understand.

"Anyway," Miguel said, in a tone that seemed to want to wrap things up. "We should get going. Let's exchange maps to see if we really are headed the same way. Then we can chat a little more as we walk."

Mariah stepped back and let her brother and the other captain look over each other's maps. The BEGA Battalion's team dynamic was so different to theirs. Like the White Tigers, Matilda was the only girl in the Battalion, but she seemed ever so shy and soft spoken – the complete opposite of Mariah herself. Miguel seemed to be a lot like her brother, cool and in charge, as she might have expected from the captain. Brooklyn looked nice enough. He was polite and smiled a lot, but there was something else there that she couldn't quite put her finger on. And she wasn't sure what to make of Mystel, although he seemed like a bit of a trickster. He was very charming, though. She shrugged to herself. She supposed she'd get to know them a little better along the way.

Soon enough, the captains were done consulting their maps with each other. Turned out that they were both heading for the same safe-point after all. Mystel took that as his cue and to lead and immediately started guiding them through the trees, wasting no time in displaying his impressive acrobatic skills. Grudgingly, Mariah had to admit that Kevin was right.

Mystel really _was_ a bit of a show-off.

* * *

"Okay, okay, I've got another one," Rei said, adjusting the numerous bags on his shoulders. He flexed a strained smirk and cracked his knuckles before continuing. "When I was eleven years old, I was sparring with my father the night before my black-belt examination. I wasn't just a kid anymore so it was getting pretty intense – neither of us were pulling any punches. Anyway, I end up aiming this kick to his head that was just a _little_ too fast for him to block or dodge, and – bam! – I broke his nose."

"Oooh, that's a tough one," Hilary said, rubbing her hands together and narrowing her eyes in thought.

Rei laughed, "Good! It's about time you had to carry something!" He made a point of adjusting the heavy load on his back again while the rest of the team snickered away at him (besides Kai, of course, who wasn't taking part).

They were playing a game. More specifically, a drinking game – only without the drinks. Rei remembered the elder people in his village used to play it in the evening sometimes, to unwind from a hard week's work. Each person would take it in turns to tell a story about themselves, and the rest of the group had decide whether it was true or false. If they answered wrong, they would have to take a penalty drink. After a few rounds of this, everything became nothing short of ludicrous. Rei remembered all those nights spent with Lee spying on the elders as they played, laughing as they slowly began to act increasingly more like children – worse, even.

Anyhow, seeing as he and his team were quite without drinks (and not to mention some years below the limit yet), Rei had to tweak the rules a little. Instead of taking penalty shots, those who answered wrong would have to carry one of the story teller's bags, and those who answered right got to shrug off one of their bags and give it _to_ the story teller – a penalty for the story teller for not being able to dupe everyone. It became very chaotic during the switching of bags in the first few rounds, and it wasted far more time than it was worth – but it was good for a laugh and they'd managed to pass the time quite amusedly. As it stood now, both Tyson and Rei were losing miserably. Kai and Kenny were being spoil-sports and refusing to play and, miraculously, neither Max nor Hilary had taken a penalty yet, so they weren't carrying a thing!

"Come on Rei, you're not complaining about a few measly little bags are you?" Tyson snarked from behind, his knees bent under an equally large amount of bags hanging off his shoulders. "You must not be as much of a man as you think you are."

"Oh, really? Then I guess you wouldn't object to _doubling_ the wager this time round then?"

"Hah! Fine – you're on! …Okay uhhmmm, I say _true_ , 'cause you wouldn't big yourself up only to confess that you weren't actually good enough to break your dad's nose."

"Haha, what?" Max said, spinning round to eye his best friend incredulously, walking backwards as he spoke. "You say it like breaking your dad's nose is a right-of-passage thing or something!" Then, turning to Rei, "I say false."

"Oh yeah, and how d'you work _that_ out?" Tyson griped.

"Easy," Max said, throwing his arms behind his head and looking down at him with a slightly mocking expression on his face. "If _you're_ saying that it's true, then it _must_ be false."

"Arghh, why I oughtta…"

"Hey, chill it, guys," Rei called. Not that he needed to. Tyson couldn't even scratch his own nose under all those bags, let alone lay one on Max. Then he turned to the only girl amongst them. "What d'you say, Hilary?"

"Hmmm. I agree with Max – _false_. You're always so... controlled! I can't see you breaking anyone's _anything_ on accident."

"Yep, you've got me," Rei said brightly, "it was false."

"What!" Tyson yelled in total disbelief. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

"No, I'm not," Rei replied, chuckling at his loud teammate's reaction. "Come on, Tyson, you really think I'd break _my dad's nose?"_

"Argh, whatever, just come over here and gimme those bags!"

Rei just laughed and stopped in his tracks to give Tyson two of his bags. The Japanese blader ought to count himself lucky he had such nice friends, though – Rei was merciful enough to give him two of the lighter ones in his possession. Max and Hilary weren't so merciful, though, shamelessly laughing at his wobbling knees. Tyson leveled them with what was almost a Kai-worthy glare. Almost.

"Alright alright, quit your cackling, who's next?" he complained.

"I'll go next!" Hilary said, her hand impulsively shooting into the air as if she was still in class. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, "'Cause, at least, if you get this one wrong Ty, you won't have to carry anything of mine."

"Oh hah – how kind of you," Tyson said grimly, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Okay, okay so: I have _never_ broken a bone."

"...Tchh, is that it?" Tyson mocked. "Lame, lame. At least Rei told us a story!"

"Tyson, I never realized you were such a sore loser – you're a total grouch!" Hilary said, spinning around to narrow her eyes at him.

"Yah, well, if I am grouchy, it's only 'cause I've learnt from the best."

"Hn." There was a significant lack of retaliation from their dual-headed captain at this comment. Obviously, he was above such trivialities.

"...What'd'you mean, Hilary?" Rei asked after a couple moment's thought. "That you've never broken someone else's bones, or one of your own?"

"One of my own," she clarified.

"Ah, okay. True then. I can't see you doing anything dangerous enough to break a bone."

"Yeah, me too," Max said. "You're such an indoor girl, Hil."

Hilary rolled her eyes. "What do you say, Tyson?"

The group had all but slowed to a stop because of the navy haired blader's lagging. Soon enough, Rei thought, Kai might have to call an end to the game or else they wouldn't make it anywhere before dark. ...They still had to cross the river yet, but hadn't found anywhere to cross it by.

"False," he said, smirking. "I'll bet you've broken a bone before. Nothing impressive though – just your toe or something…. after dropping an encyclopedia on it."

Hilary blinked, her face a true picture, torn somewhere between an expression of shock and mortification. "Wha...but – how did you…?"

Tyson's jaw hit the ground. "Oh my god, no! I'm right? Seriously!" He'd stopped walking altogether now and was now just frozen in place, his knees still bent under the weight of the bags, laughing his face off. "But I was just kidding! When?"

Rei watched, unable to contain his own chuckling as a bright red flush began to grace Hilary's cheeks. She balled her hands into fists and folded her arms agitatedly, saying, "...Sixth grade. But there is _no_ way you could _guess_ something like that! Have you been speaking to my mom?"

"Tchh, _why_ would I speak to your mom? She's scarier than you are! I guess I'm just amazing is all." Without an ounce of ceremony, he dropped all the bags onto the floor and stood up straight, making a show of stretching his back and rolling his shoulders out. Then he bent down and grabbed at a few of the bags, before plucking one up and smugly handing it out to Hilary. "Here you go, I guessed right – take your penalty!"

"Hah, nice try Tyson. I'm not taking _that_ ," she said huffily, walking towards him. "Knowing you, it's probably the heaviest one."

Rei laughed a little harder as Tyson pulled a face, looking as though he'd just been stabbed. "Well then, you obviously _don't_ know me at all," Tyson spluttered, "As it's the lightest one I could find! But, if you _really_ don't trust me, Hil, I can always –"

"Wait, no! Never mind, I'll take it!" she gripped the bag, but Tyson didn't loosen his hold on it.

"You'll take it, ' _please,_ '" he said, pulling her a little closer. They were practically nose-to-nose now, both with narrowed eyes, both gripping a handle on the bag, both trying to stare each other out. Rei rolled his eyes. Not this again.

"Please," Hilary said grudgingly.

"And you're sorry for thinking so low of me." He was smirking now.

"What? I'm not saying – hmph – oh fine! I'm... _sorry,_ for thinking so low of you," she said through slightly gritted teeth, trying to snatch the bag away.

"Guys, stop talking," Kai said stiffly from the front of the group.

But Tyson wasn't finished yet. He continued on teasing Hilary, "Because I'm so amazing, and honourable, and kind, and –"

"Oh, and modest," Hilary snarked. "Don't forget modest."

"Hey, would you guys shut it for _two_ seconds!" Kai barked from the front of the group. He'd dropped the bag he was carrying, and his shoulders were stiff.

"Alright, don't get your panties in a twist, Mr. Sunshine –"

"I said, _shut it!"_ Kai whipped around.

Hilary's face crumpled with an expression somewhere between hurt, confusion, and concern. "...What's up, Kai?"

Kai ignored her. Rei blinked when his captain's crimson eyes flashed to the side, meeting his. "Do you hear that?"

A stillness descended on the group and Rei poised to listen, straining his ears. He guessed he must've missed it over the noise they were making, but he could definitely hear it now. It sounded like another group of people… shouting. "Yeah, sounds like…" A chill worked its way down Rei's spine as one of the voices reached a worryingly high pitch. "...Like they're in trouble."

"I think they're somewhere over there," Tyson said staring off to the right, his face now showing an expression of concern instead of amusement.

"We should check it out," Kai said, picking up a few of the bags from the ground and shouldering them. Max did the same, and Hilary and Kenny took another of Rei's, and soon enough they were all jogging at an urgent pace through the increasingly thinning trees towards the voices.

Rei's somewhat irrational fears of a bear attack, or something equally as horrible, began to diminish, and the voices and shouts began to sound only panicked rather than terrified the closer they got. Eventually, he could pick out the odd sentence or two.

" _Seriously, I really don't think it looks safe!"_

" _...Come on, relax, it'll be fine –"_

" _No! You know, we aren't even meant to be crossing here anyway!"_

Rei turned his head around to Kai as they all strode through the trees, "What'd'you think's going on?"

"Sounds like some idiot's doing something he shouldn't."

Soon, the green and brown around them slowly became grey and blue. The pines and firs were spread thin now. Rei shut his eyes against the sudden light, and then widened as he saw the sheer grey rock and steep slopes surrounding them – evidence that they were nearing a canyon or gorge of some kind. In the distance they could see three – no, four figures, and one of them was making his way across what looked like a narrow, rickety bridge over the canyon.

"Hey, hey you guys!"

The group of people spun around and Rei resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Trust Tyson to announce their presence with all the grace and subtlety of a bull crashing through a china shop.

As they drew near, Rei began to make out the details of the people near the bridge. The first person he saw was a girl. She had masses of fiery red hair, and he noticed her large, dark eyes were somewhat reluctant to take in Rei and his team as they approached – they kept worriedly flicking back to the boy on the bridge. This boy had a shock of blue hair, and his arms were spread slightly as if to better balance himself on the rickety old thing. At the sound of Tyson's call, however, he twisted around to see what all the fuss was about. Also in their numbers were two other guys; one short and blonde, and the other tall and wide, with brown hair.

"Hey!" Tyson said again as they finally closed the distance between their groups. "Is everything alright? What's all the shouting about?"

"Huh, nothing, 'cept our fool of a captain being too much of a daredevil for his own good again," the small blonde said in reply, folding his arms irritatedly.

The girl with red hair spun around again, apparently dismissing the need to speak to them now that her teammate had. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted out again, "Kane, _seriously_ , _please_ come back!"

"Look," Kane said, holding his hands out and walking backwards over the bridge one small step at a time. "It's holding up just fine! If you're really that worried, we can cross one-by-one – we'll all be over in no time."

"More like we'll all be under it in no time. Kane, I've gotta disagree," said the blonde, turning back around again. "Calculating the thickness of this rope, it ain't gonna hold up. Besides, we don't even know how old it is!"

"Not you too, Jim… You're all worrying over nothing. It wouldn't be here if it wasn't safe – whoa!" The boy called Kane suddenly bent his knees and his arms shot out to grip one of the rope handrails as the bridge gave a sudden, ominous lurch. Hilary's hands flew to her mouth with a small 'ohmygoodness'.

"See?" The redhead shouted hysterically. "Kane, please get back over here, we'll find another way across!"

"Yeah dude," Tyson stepped forward and shouted, probably feeling a little like he ought to try his hand at helping too. Rei saw him peer over the edge and down into the canyon, before pulling an expression of distaste. "It _definitely_ doesn't look worth the risk."

There was a brief moment where he and Tyson clasped eyes. The boy looked over to the other side – he was pretty much half-way across already. But then he looked down, and finally seemed to think better of it. "Alright...you've probably got a point."

The redhead looked around at Tyson, relieved as Kane began to make his way back. "Thank you," she mouthed at him voicelessly.

"Tchh, it ain't nothin'" he replied smoothly, stepping back again and adjusting his cap.

The atmosphere of relief swiftly evaporated, however, when a sound began to echo all around the canyon that sounded suspiciously like a series of creaks and snaps. Kane hesitated on the bridge, his hands flying out to grab the rails again. He stepped forward, and another violet crack could be heard. He stopped in his tracks completely.

"... _Shit,_ " he heard his stone-cold captain hiss behind him, stepping forward. But not before Rei had.

"Hey, stay there – stop moving for a second!"

"Huh?" the blue-haired boy looked up, now a trace of fear in his eyes.

"You're gonna have to take it slow, okay? And take your hands of those hand-rails, too!"

"What?" Kane eyed Rei with an expression that clearly said _'have you lost your mind?'_ , but he let go of the rope nonetheless.

"Yeah dude, what?" Tyson echoed.

"Look, you're just gonna have to trust me," he said, turning to Kane's team who were eyeing him with equally incredulous faces. "We have these kinds of rope bridges all over the mountains back home in China," he explained quietly, "And the top-ropes pretty much hold _all_ the weight of the planks below. If he keeps tugging at them, he's just gonna wear them down a lot faster and… if the bridge were to break, holding on to those wouldn't do _any_ good."

"...But, it's _not_ going to break, right?" the girl asked in a small voice, turning pale.

Rei didn't answer. Instead, he addressed everyone in the group. "Hey, did anyone see which side of the bridge was giving in?"

"Left," the little blonde said immediately. "It's taut from the strain, see?"

And so it was. This kid had quite an eye. "Okay, good. Hey – Kane, right?" Rei called. The boy on the bridge looked up and nodded. "You've gotta stay low to the planks, okay? Take it slow, and keep to the right, the ropes are stronger there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah… Just trust me." Then he turned back around to the rest of the group. "What the hell's he doing out there anyway?"

"He's a little too care-free for his own good, sometimes... It looked like a short-cut, so he decided to take it without _really_ thinking it through," the redhead said unhappily. She was holding her arms close around her body, her eyes fixed on her blue-haired team mate.

"Hah, well _that_ sounds pretty familiar, wouldn't you say, Tyse?" Rei raised an eyebrow at him. The Japanese teen was moaning all morning about trying to find a short-cut. He'd only stopped when Rei decided they should all play a game to distract themselves.

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Tyson said, throwing his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.

"Anyway," Rei said, turning back to look at Kane who was slowly shuffling his way back across the bridge, "I still think we ought'a keep a grip on these ropes – better to be safe than sorry, right? Kai, could you come over here and keep close to the bottom ones with me? And you," as Kai stepped beside him, Rei looked over at the largest member of Kane's team, hoping that he was as packed with muscle as he looked, "I'm sorry, I don't know your name, but could you get ready to keep a hold on that top-rope, just in case he reaches for it on instinct."

"'Course," he replied.

"Great – Tyse, Max? You're gonna have to watch us and, if we do have to pull him up, make sure he doesn't end up pulling us all down, alright?"

"Heh, no pressure, then," Tyson said, cracking his knuckles along with half a smile.

Hilary, Kenny and the other two members of Kane's team stepped back to give them some room. Everyone waited with slightly baited breath as Kane slowly made his way towards them.

"So far so good," Kai breathed, as Kane came ever closer. He had to be less than ten feet away now. Rei felt some of the tension begin to leave his shoulders. Then, the clearing echoed with a sickening whipping sound. The rope snapped and Rei watched as the boy with blue hair froze for just a moment, before catching the eyes of his friends and disappearing out of sight. The girl screamed.

"KANE!"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** So this week I had Wednesday off work and decided to go to the German Christmas market in my town and I've really got the Christmas bug now. I'm gonna have to put up the tree this weekend! _

_Oh, also I'll be flying out to Japan for the holidays and I'm so excited I can hardly stand it - Christmas in Tokyo, holy fuckballs! But yeah, just wanted to let you guys know that I'll be taking a short break for a couple weeks while I'm away (21st Dec - 3rd Jan specifically). So when you notice a lack of updates, it is not because I have died and/or entered another 3-year hiatus, I promise. :3_

 _I hope to put out a couple of Christmassy one-shots before then, so if there are any characters/pairings you particularly want, let me know 'cause I'm open to ideas! :)_

 _Anyway, that's it for now. Thanks as always to all my readers and reviewers._ _Here's another Thursday update lol._ _Bye for now!_

 _~ Indie_


	15. Rescue Parties and Revelations

**Chapter Fourteen: Rescue Parties and Revelations**

"Shit - grab the rope, grab it! - Tyson!"

Rei tensed his hands around the bottom rope and felt it jerk away sharply. In the same moment that he felt his feet slip against the smooth stone edge, he felt Tyson's hands grip around his elbow. From the corner of his eye, he saw blonde hair fly forwards and figured that Max had gripped Kai too. There was a slightly strangled yell from below and a thud as Kane hit the side of the canyon.

"Dude!" Max yelled around Kai's arm. "Are you still holding on?"

No answer, but from the sound of the coughing and gasping and the way the rope continued to pull against his and Kai's hands, Rei gathered that he was still there. He probably just had the air knocked out of his lungs on impact – but that was no surprise. At least he wasn't still way out near the middle when the bridge gave up... he _definitely_ wouldn't have gotten off so lightly then. But it wasn't over yet. Kane was still dangling over the edge, they still had to pull him up.

"Kane, man, just keep holding on – catch your breath so we can pull you up!" yelled his larger team mate, discarding the other rope and peering over the edge. He was laying close to the ground now and stretching his hand out, but he was still a few feet shy of reaching the blue-haired captain.

"I –" There was a little more coughing and strained breathing. "I'm fine!" he croaked.

"Good," Rei said, his voice strained with the effort, but relieved. "Alright Kane, listen up! Let go of the planks, and grab hold of the rope on the side instead, and we'll pull you up that way."

"...Alright." Slowly, Kane inched his grip sideways and took hold of the rope. Good thing too, as one of the planks broke off ominously and fell down into the canyon, bouncing off the jagged rocks in its surprisingly rapid descent.

Two minutes or so later, Rei and Kai had managed to pull him up close enough for the bigger guy to grab hold of his wrist. Rei helped out, and, soon enough, Kane was lifted up and over the edge of the canyon.

Kai let go of what was left of the bridge and threw it down the canyon, before airing his palms out to relieve the friction-burn. Rei did the same and let loose a breath of relief as Kane, having regained both the feeling in his legs and solid ground, hastened to put as much distance between himself and the edge of the canyon as possible. He collided with Tyson on his way and the pair almost toppled over, but the navy haired teen gripped the other's shoulders and managed to save them both at the last second.

"Dude, what the hell man?" Tyson exclaimed, "You're crazier than I am! Did you even _see_ that bridge before you went out on it?"

"I… I guess not," Kane replied a little breathlessly. Then the two all but collapsed against each other, laughing, giddy with relief. They all were.

"Oh my god, Kane," the redhead said, walking up to him, her face a wash of many emotions. She came right before him and looked as if she was going to throw her arms around him. Instead, she swatted him on the chest. Hard. "You are such an idiot! I was so worried!"

"I – I'm sorry, Salima, I didn't meant to scare you," he said a little awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

Then she really did throw her arms around him. Pulling him into a hug, she said, "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I am. I'm fine," he said, looking her in the eye firmly as she pulled away. Then, looking back around at Rei and Kai, he said, "Thanks really are in order, you two." He extended a hand to the Chinese blader, who took it politely and shook. "Introductions, too. We're the Psykicks, I'm Kane –"

"Yeah, we heard," Tyson interjected, raising an eyebrow and nonchalantly throwing his arms behind his head.

Kane just shook his head and smiled good-naturedly before continuing, "And this is the rest of my team, Salima, Jim and Goki." Each of them smiled pleasantly and waved, or nodded in Jim's case, when their name was called. "I really can't thank you guys enough –"

"I understand you're captain, then?" Kai interrupted.

"Yeah, I lead the team."

"Hn. Well perhaps you'd like to think twice about _where_ you lead them in future." Then, without another word, he pocketed his hands and stalked off in the general direction of the bags which they'd all dropped a few meters away in their haste to help out earlier. Kane blinked at the stoic blader's retreating form.

"Huh. Just ignore him, Kane," Tyson started, "He's –"

"No, he's right." Kane said, with a serious expression on his face. Looking at his team, he continued, "I almost put you all in real danger. I'm sorry."

Salima smiled kindly at him. "It's fine. We live and we learn, right? We're all okay – and that's all that really matters in the end." Then she turned around to Rei and said, "But Kane's right. We can't thank you enough – I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't turned up!"

"Heh, well I have a pretty good idea what might've – ouch!"

" _Tyson!_ Don't say things like that!" Hilary said, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. But Kane and the others just laughed. Nothing was going to spoil their feelings of relief any time soon.

"It's fine, really," Rei said, "I'm just glad we were able to get here in time to help. Oh, but don't thank me – it was Kai who heard you all shouting," he said, gesturing backwards to where their captain was gathering up the scattered backpacks again. "We wouldn't even be here at all if it wasn't for him."

"Yeah, I really owe you one, Kai. Thanks!" Kane called over.

"Not a problem," he said, raising his hand in the air for a second.

"Hmm," Tyson said with a faint knowing smile, "He's in a good mood today." Then he laughed at the expressions on the Psykick's faces. "No, he is, I can tell! – He acts all tough and stuff, but he's just a big ol' marshmallow."

They heard a 'Hah!' from behind them where Kai was, but nothing more.

"Anyway," Tyson continued, "We're the –"

"The Bladebreakers!" Jim suddenly exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

"...Oh yeah! I thought you looked familiar," Kane said, the light of recognition dawning in his deep blue eyes. "Must not've recognized you in the middle of all the, erm, action."

"So you've heard of us?" Max said excitedly, his blonde curls bouncing. "That's totally cool!"

"Duh, of course they've heard of us, Maxi – we're the World Champs, remember?" Tyson said rubbing his nose conceitedly. Rei shook his head. The boy didn't have an ounce of modesty. "I guess you'll have already heard our names then; I'm Tyson, and this is Max, Rei, the Chief, and Captain Kai!" he rounded off with a jovial salute in Kai's direction. It was ignored.

"Hey hey hey!" Hilary interrupted, elbowing the Japanese blader again, "What about me?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about you. This is Hilary, she's our team mas – smphlbfhm!"

Tyson was cut off as Hilary's hand shot out and covered his mouth irritatedly. "– For the last time, Tyson, I am _not_ your mascot!" Rei chuckled and watched as she shoved Tyson off to the side (Max only just managing to move out of the way) with another impressive display of strength before continuing sweetly, "I'm their coach – Hilary Tachibana, it's lovely to meet you."

"Hey, Kane!" Tyson said, picking himself up off the floor and fixing his crooked cap. "How about a beybattle?"

The same light of competition that was so often seen in Tyson's eyes lit up in Kane's, and his eyes narrowed. "Sure thing."

"Yeah! Alright, I'm gonna –"

"You're _not_ gonna do anything," Kai said gruffly, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing Tyson's blade hand by the wrist in midair. He swiped his Dragoon away. Tyson huffed, but Rei recognised Kai's tone. It was his 'no-more-nonsense-for-real-this-time' tone. There was simply no arguing with it. "We've lost enough time already and we all need to cross the canyon and get to the next safe point before dark. Battles can wait."

Rei and the group rolled their eyes at Kai's retreating back and made to collect their bags. He shouldered his and Hilary's bags, and then stopped when he realised the others hadn't followed. Tyson looked around. Kane and his team remained where they were standing, shuffling on their feet a little awkwardly. "Huh... aren't you guys coming?" he asked.

Kane turned to face Salima for a second before replying. Apparently, they were unsure of whether they were welcome to follow or not. "Well, er…"

"Of course they are," Kai said, shouldering his bag. In typical Kai fashion, he didn't turn around to face them. "I said we _all_ have to cross the canyon. So hurry up, let's get moving."

Rei blinked, and then laughed lightly. Tyson was right, Kai really was in a good mood today.

"Well, that's probably the closest to a formal invitation you're ever gonna get from him," Tyson said, grinning. "So come on, already. Kai's misplaced his raincloud – let's make the most of it!"

Everybody in the group laughed, and the nine teens followed Kai away from the broken bridge and into the trees once more.

* * *

"I'm hungry."

"Ian, just shut up already."

"No Bryan, you shut up! Tala, can't we just stop to eat?" Ian whined impatiently.

"No."

"Argh, you're such a dick! I didn't get any breakfast because of your stupid little trick with the tree!"

"Deal with it, Ian, we're not stopping to eat. We didn't bring any food anyway. Travelling light, remember?"

"I hate you," he muttered childishly.

"Hate Bryan," Tala said nonchalantly, twisting round briefly. "He's the one who ate your share this morning."

While Bryan grinned rather cruelly, Ian continued to mutter under his breath. He periodically sent the falcon blader heated glare, but nothing else besides. Bryan was bigger than he was and Ian didn't particularly feel like getting another ass-kicking.

Tala sighed to himself and kept pushing forwards through the trees. They'd only been walking for a couple hours, maybe three. He calculated that they ought to have another hour's journey ahead at most, after which they should have arrived at (or at least somewhere nearby) the next safe point and could relax for the rest of the afternoon before setting up camp.

Tala pulled the map out of his back pocket again, but more out of habit than anything else. All they had to do was continue walking due east, there was no way they could lose themselves. After wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow Tala plowed on ahead and grudgingly admitted that, maybe, he'd let himself fall a little out of shape since leaving the Abbey. There was once a time when a steady upward trek through the mountains like this would be a cake walk. Of course, he supposed the heat, which they never really had this much of in Russia to say the least, wasn't helping matters either.

" _Well well well, what do we have here?"_

Tala stopped in his tracks at the sound of the echoed voice and, old habits not dying, instinctively used a military hand signal and motioned to his team to freeze. It sounded like a girl's voice. All the way out here?

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bryan drop the bags he was carrying and shift his stance. Always ready for a fight, forever on the defensive – even when there couldn't be any _real_ threat. Tala wondered vaguely if he and his team would ever loosen up a little. But he supposed not. There were some habits that never broke.

"Looks to me like we've found some strays, sis," called another voice from the opposite direction.

"Are you lost, boys?" the girl's voice called out again, mockingly. It danced between the branches in the trees and circled around them. It was frustratingly impossible to pinpoint its location. "You're _way_ off the trail out here."

Tala's eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he stared up into the trees, searching for the source of the voices. "Alright, you've had your fun. Now enough with the games," he called sharply. "Unless you feel like coming out to play?"

There was a rustling around them at which point two people suddenly appeared. The first was the girl. She had long, midnight-blue hair and sharp, emerald eyes. She dropped out of a nearby tree and landed neatly onto the ground before them, before standing up and placing a hand on her hip. The second was a boy. With a spiky mop of dark green hair and the same strange, piercing eyes; he hung upside down by his knees from a branch just a few feet behind the girl, and he had a mischievous little grin on his face. They were both dressed, Tala noted, in strange red, orange and black outfits of uncertain ethnic origin – clearly foreigners.

Beside him, he felt Bryan ease up. His purple-grey haired teammate must have been thinking the same thing as him - these two kids didn't pose a threat.

"Heh. I didn't know monkeys were native to North America," Ian snarked.

At this the boy dropped out of the tree and, twisting around in the air, landed neatly on his feet next to the girl. Tala watched as the boy drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't anything impressive.

Even Bryan snorted. "Relative of yours, Ian?" he asked, looking sideways at him and prodding the small blader in the shoulder with his elbow.

"Pah, like hell he is!" Ian cried disgruntledly, swatting away his larger teammate's elbow.

"Yah – as if I'd be related to that _puny_ thing," the other replied coolly, folding his arms.

Ian spluttered with indignation. He took enough insults about his height from his own team and could deal with that on a good day since _they_ , at least, were no small fries. But this weasel – Ian was sure he had half an inch on him, at least! "That's rich, coming from a – a short, skinny little weed like you!"

"What did you call me, _pipsqueak_?" the green-haired child asked, with a mocking grin on his face. Seemed he knew a nerve when he hit one.

"Oh, you heard what I called you, you tiny little speck of a fuck nugget!"

The other boy's jaw dropped and the grin slid off his face like butter. Apparently, he wasn't able to keep his former cool in the face of such blatant vulgarity. "That's it! You're asking for it you… you big-nosed little midget!"

"… Bi – big nosed? _Big-nosed!_ That's it! Why I oughtta…"

Tala raised an eyebrow and watched with some amusement as the two pint-sized boys marched up to one another and squared off, yelling all the while. They were nose-to-nose now (which, in Ian's case, meant he was almost poking the other boy's eye out), and grabbing at each other's shirts angrily.

"Wait wait wait wait," Ian shouted, taking a step back and holding his hands out before him, initiating a temporary cease-fire. "Why are _we_ fighting?"

Slowly, Ian turned his head around and settled his scarlet eyes on Bryan who, for all intents and purposes, was the true instigator of the argument. The small green haired boy's eyes travelled away from Ian and in the instant they landed on Bryan, a mischievous grin of understanding crept around his face too. A split second later and both of the little people decided to commit suicide, apparently, by launching themselves at the falcon blader in unison, screaming battle cries the entire time.

Bryan narrowed his eyes, took half a step back, braced himself, and then – contact.

"Urghf... fuckin' get – _get off me you little shits!"_

Then all hell broke loose.

"Oh boy," the girl said, visibly face palming and, sidestepping the fight, made her way towards Tala and the rest of their team.

Spencer folded his bulky arms and chuckled lightly as he watched the all too familiar sight of Bryan and Ian fighting, only this time with a new little addition. "So," he said, looking down at the girl and nodding towards her small friend, "You've got one too?"

She looked over at the brawling trio and sighed. "What, a crazy little firecracker? Doesn't everyone?" she smirked. "I take it you're one of the teams blading in the tournament, then?"

"Yep," Tala said, pocketing his hands and joining the conversation too. "We're the Blitzkrieg Boys. I'm Tala, captain of the team. Those two idiots over there are Bryan and Ian. And –"

"– And you can call me Spencer," the blonde said, extending a huge hand which the girl shook.

"Heh, well you're a big guy, aren't you?" she said with a sly smile, looking up at the blader who towered over her. "We've got one of those, too. My name's Mariam, and that's my little brother Joseph," she said, flicking her bangs out of her eyes a little.

Tala raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Small team?"

"Oh, no," she said, smirking, "There's four of us, but Ozuma sent Joseph and I ahead. We call ourselves the Saint Shields," she added.

"Oh, alright then. So where –" Tala was cut off by the sound of a particularly strangled yell coming from the mouth of his smallest teammate. The three looked over to the brawl. "…Ah. Yes, you might wanna pull your little brother out of there before Bryan actually ends up killing him."

Mariam laughed, not quite taking him seriously. "Oh, he'll be fine. You don't know Joseph."

"And you don't know Bryan," Spencer said grimly.

Tala rolled his eyes and made to step forward to put an end to the scuffle, but just as he did so he had to step quickly back again as a green and orange blur zoomed past him.

Joseph, having just been tossed out of the fight like a sack of potatoes, skidded across the ground on his bottom in a cloud of dust and pine needles. Scrambling upright again, he crouched down and got ready to launch himself straight back in. But before his feet managed to leave the ground, Mariam's hand shot forward and caught him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him roughly backwards. His preemptive battle-cry was amusingly cut off midway and degenerated into a strangled choking sound as his shirt tightened around his neck.

Coughing, spluttering and cradling his throat, Joseph's green eyes shot up indignantly towards his sister. "Mariam, what's the big idea – ouch! – hey!" he said, rubbing his head.

After swatting him roughly around the back of the head, Mariam placed her hands on her hips and said pointedly, "Ozuma said _not_ to go picking fights with the other team, remember? I have enough trouble cleaning up after the mess Dunga's temper gets him in, without _you_ causing trouble too."

"Alright alright, chill out, sis!" Joseph muttered easily, blowing a puff of air through his bangs and folding his arms nonchalantly. "I'm just having a bit of fun."

"Bryan!" Tala called sharply. He'd just noticed the pale-haired blader aiming one hell of a kick at Ian. At the sound of his voice, though, Bryan froze for a second and Tala watched as he seemed to weigh up the pros and cons of his current choice. The satisfaction of laying one on Ian versus the consequences of ignoring a direct warning from his captain. A second later and Bryan decided to back off. Ian, no longer caught between a tree trunk and the impending kick, let loose a visible sigh of relief.

Bryan began to dust off his clothes and Mariam called over to him, "Bryan, eh? I take it you're the stupid one with the temper, then? Every team has one of those, too."

He froze for the second time, before letting his pale grey eyes snap over to her green ones sharply. "...What?"

She smirked and folded her arms while Ian looked at her with wide eyes. The girl was baiting _Bryan_. Had she lost her mind? "A _short_ temper, too," she continued. "Still, at least this one's got you on a leash," she said, gesturing over her shoulder at Tala.

The redheaded captain smirked and watched his teammate's predicament with mild amusement. He knew all about Bryan's issue with men who hit women. Unfortunately for Bryan, hitting people was usually his way of asserting his authority too, and so every now and then when he came across the occasional brave girl with more guts than sense, he found himself stuck in the middle of the same old dilemma. Defend his pride in the only way he knew how (not a chance), or let them walk all over him (even less of a chance).

Bryan began to step forwards, dangerously slowly, and Tala snickered as he saw that the falcon blader had reached the same old compromise he always did: Intimidation. Coming to a stop before Mariam he spread his shoulders wide, narrowed his eyes coldly and, pointing a threatening finger in her face, said lowly, "I am _nobody's_ dog."

To her credit, she maintained eye contact and barely even flinched. Tala was mildly impressed.

Clearing his throat to clear the tension (lest Bryan walk about in a huff all day), Tala made a show of checking his watch and shifting his rucksack around. "Well, I think we've wasted enough time here," he said authoritatively. As he spoke Bryan took a few steps back again and began irritatedly rummaging around in his pockets for his cigarettes. "It's time we started moving again and found this damned safe point."

Ian groaned dramatically. "You know, I still can't believe that stupid old man did this to us. _To us!_ Has he forgotten who we even _are?_ As soon as I find Dickenson I'm gonna…"

Tala rolled his eyes as Ian spewed out a number of imaginative threats which everyone present knew he'd never act on, not really. Hearing some snickering to the side, Tala glanced over to Mariam and Joseph who were talking and laughing behind their hands and looked like they were sharing a jolly good joke… at he and his team's expense. He raised a cold eyebrow at them.

"Oh, no," the green haired boy said, taking note of the cold glare that was being leveled at him, "We're not laughing _at_ you –"

"Well, we are," Mariam tinkered.

"Heh, it's just, we've found the safe point _already_ ," he continued smugly.

"Yeah, ages ago," Mariam said, flicking her hand about nonchalantly. "It's about a half-hour's walk that way," she said, gesturing vaguely to the right of where Tala and his team were headed. "It's this really cute little log cabin – can't miss it!"

Tala stared off for a moment in the direction Mariam pointed in, but when he turned back to look at her, she and her brother were walking in the opposite direction. His sharp blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, not entirely believing them. "So," he called, "you two are walking _away_ from the safe point because…?"

The boy spun around. "'Cause we're heading back to regroup with the rest of our team," he said lazily.

Mariam looked back over her shoulder at them. "Yeah, didn't I tell you already? Our leader sent us ahead." Then she twisted around and grinned at them, "Say, why don't you boys go on ahead to the cabin and... cosy the place up a little for our arrival. Get a fire started or something." Wouldn't you know it, she even had the nerve to wink at Bryan.

"Don't bother."

Mariam blinked in surprise, but then smirked and rolled her eyes at the sound of the voice that called out through the trees behind her. Beside her, Joseph laughed, calling, "So that big oaf didn't slow you down too much then, eh Ozuma?"

"Nah," Mariam snarked, "I'll bet Ozuma just ditched him."

Tala placed an irritated hand on his hip as he watched this pair's double-act play out. Over their shoulders, he saw two figures emerge from between the trees. The first was a tall and bulky dark-skinned man with a mop of dirty blonde hair. The second was a shorter, but much sterner looking boy with a shock of red and black hair. Both of these people, Tala noted, shared Mariam and Joseph's strange emerald eyes and interesting taste in clothing.

"Ya know, Mariam, you've got a real heartless streak," the taller of the two said. "But Ozuma ain't like that – he'll stand by me through thick and thin."

Tala watched as the boy he assumed was called Ozuma stopped in his tracks for a moment and glanced up at his companion with an expression somewhere between mild confusion and distaste. "...Please don't say that again with quite so much… passion."

Mariam and Joseph laughed outright at the amusingly broken expression on their large teammate's face. Ozuma, meanwhile, placed his hands in his pockets and walked forwards, shaking his head slightly at their joviality. Glancing upwards, he caught sight of Tala and his team. The redhead, sensing another round of introductions on their way, motioned his team forwards – but not without sending the now-smoking Bryan, who was still glaring at the girl with blue hair, a look that clearly said, ' _be nice'._

* * *

On the floor of the cabin, Tala punched at his rolled up sleeping bag and shifted himself into a more comfortable position. Head resting on it like a pillow, arms thrown behind his head, one leg lazily crossed over the other; much better. Turning his head slightly to the side, Tala watched through the window as the inky skies took on a warm orange glow with the approaching sunset. Sighing, he spared a moment to enjoy the comfortable atmosphere.

The log cabin was small – quaint, even – but more than roomy enough for the eight of them to sleep in without any invasion of personal space. There were four windows, two at the front and another two at the back, and the charming wooden floor and log walls were a welcome change to the tents Tala and his team had slept in the night before. In the middle of the room was a small stone pit in which there was a small fire burning, casting a warm, golden glow on the room and its occupants.

Glancing towards the corner of the room, Tala watched as Ian and Joseph chatted, daring little grins on both their faces. In fact, it looked rather more like they were scheming – forming a united front against the tyranny of tall people, perhaps? Tala smirked at the sight and shook his head lightly at their suspiciously hushed voices, the only source of noise inside the room besides the gentle crackling of the fire, and the periodic _woosh_ from outside the cabin, followed quickly by a sharp _ch-thunk_.

Spencer and the big guy from the other team, Dunga, were chopping wood with an axe they'd found amongst the supplies in the cabin. All it took was a fallen log in their path earlier on that afternoon for the two shift it and form a friendship based on muscle. Or maybe friendship was too strong a word. Regardless, the two were currently outside after Dunga posed some sort of competition to see which of them was stronger, to which Spencer politely acquiesced. Judging by the sounds of frustrated grunting and a rising temper, Tala guessed that Spencer was winning at whatever it was they were doing out there. And, really, this was no surprise. As far as the whale was concerned, what you saw was exactly what you got.

The third piece of muscle that _might_ have been included in their contest, had he made more of an effort at being social, was currently sat in the corner of the room opposite the midgets with a black cloud hanging over his head. Bryan – back up against the wall, elbows upon his knees and a scowl on his face – was twiddling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Tala didn't have to be a mind reader to know what his pale-haired friend was thinking. There were no newsstands at which he could waste his money and feed his habit up in these mountains, and the thought hadn't crossed his mind until Ian rather gleefully mentioned it earlier that afternoon. Two weeks. Two packs – one of which he was almost half-way through already.

Now, Bryan wasn't nearly a pack-a-day man, not yet. But even Tala could do the math.

No doubt the falcon blader was trying to figure out his best course of action.

Almost as if he could feel Tala's amused gaze upon him, Bryan lifted cool grey eyes and leveled Tala with a glare. Slowly, the smallest grimace crept around his face in spite of himself. "I don't need it," he grunted, a little too defiantly.

"Sure," Tala replied with a cool grin, not believing him for a second.

Bryan shook his purple-grey head and, tender to the point of being ridiculous, placed the cigarette back into its pack – but not before shooting a cold glare at the blue-haired girl in the centre of the room.

Ah, Mariam, the other contributing factor to Bryan's black cloud. There weren't many people that Bryan failed to intimidate and, surprisingly, she fell into this small category of people. It was irrational, but whenever it happened, Bryan felt threatened and immediately threw up his defenses. Tala snickered as he realized that Bryan's agitated state was no doubt amplifying his need for a smoke.

The girl in question was propped up on her stomach in front of the fire. Elbows nestled in to her sleeping bag, she was expertly peeling an apple with a small knife and taking great care to ensure that the peel continued on in one long, twisting, unbroken spiral. She was quite happily oblivious to the fact that she was on the receiving end of a few rather icy glares. Either that, or she was doing a good job of disregarding them entirely.

The captain of their team, Ozuma, was off to the side of the room. He, too, was lying on the floor with his arms thrown back and his legs crossed in the air just like Tala, but his eyes were closed and the redhead wasn't sure if he was sleeping or not.

With a comfortable yawn, Tala began to think about actually getting into his sleeping bag. He watched disinterestedly as Mariam, having now finished peeling her apple, pushed herself up off the ground and stood up to admire her work. She'd just walked over to the open window to throw the peel out when there was a dejected cry from outside, followed shortly by a series of stomps and the door being swung open.

Dunga came storming through. He trudged in miserably and popped himself down at the table on the side of the room furthest away from everyone else, his face displaying an amusing expression somewhere between outrage and depression. Ozuma's eyes cracked open at his arrival and he raised an eyebrow. Not sleeping after all.

Spencer entered the room shortly afterwards with a slightly self-satisfied – although not cruel – smile on his face. He sat down on the floor near Tala and leant back against the wall.

Mariam, placing a hand on her hip and putting two and two together, laughed. She walked over to Dunga and prodded him on the side of the head. "Oh Dunga," she snarked, "I hope you didn't completely embarrass yourself out there."

The big guy made no reply other than to glare up at her and, if Tala wasn't mistaken, fight the quivering of his bottom lip.

The girl, seeing how seriously he'd taken his defeat, rolled her eyes. "Don't be so hard on yourself, you big baby. It was just a silly little game, right? You'll always be the strongest in our village."

He looked up at that, getting teary eyed. "Oh Mariam!" he wailed, apparently crying into her knees as she stood there trying not to drop her perfectly peeled apple. Tala raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sensitive guy.

Mariam began tapping him on the head tiredly, as though this course of events was nothing unusual. "There there, big guy," she said. She stifled a laugh and looked over to her captain who, likewise, was smirking slightly and shaking his head. Apparently, Dunga didn't take defeat well, especially if it threatened his position as strongest in the village.

"Hey," Tala called, curiosity finally getting the better of him, "Where are you guys from, anyhow?"

Ozuma's eyes travelled over to the Russian captain and he said, "Southeast Europe."

"Yeah," Mariam piped in, still patting her teammate on the head consolingly, "From this old little Macedonian island off the coast of Greece."

"Ah," Tala mused, nodding. "Makes sense."

"Why?" Mariam asked, eyes sparkling in the light of the fire.

"Just, your clothes. I thought they looked… I don't know, Aztecy?" Tala said, wiggling the fingers of his left hand in the air as tried to think of the word before lazily propping it back behind his head. "But your accents aren't nearly south American enough, so there's no way."

Ozuma chuckled lightly, "You know your Geography, I'll give you that."

Tala smirked wryly, "Yeah, I get by."

"So how about you guys, then?" Mariam asked, finally easing her legs out of Dunga's grip. The big guy had calmed down some now, it seemed. "You don't have much of an accent at all, but I'd guess that you're European too. Somewhere north, maybe?" she said, her eyes dropping down to the floor and resting on Tala's fur-lined coat by his feet – the coat which, not surprisingly, he hadn't worn once since leaving the airport.

"Russia," Tala stated.

Even as he said it, Tala could have sworn he saw a flash of _something_ light up in the eyes of the Saint Shield's captain. He slowly pushed himself up off the ground into a sitting position, which Tala's slightly paranoid mind told him was a decidedly defensive move.

Whatever Tala might have sensed hanging in the air was clearly missed by the girl. "Ah, Russia," she said excitedly, "We were there about a year ago, and – oh, maybe you guys might know a little more about it! When we were there we tried checking out some beyblading competition in the capital, but no one would give us the time of day. We thought it was real strange, until –"

"Mariam," Ozuma broke in.

"Oh shush, I'm telling the story, wait your turn," she said, waving an impatient hand at her captain. Now that Dunga had calmed somewhat, she moved across the room and sat herself down in front of the fire opposite Tala. "Anyway, we heard some rumors, pretty dark ones too, about this beyblading institute in Moscow. Apparently, this institute sent a team of bladers into the Championships and–"

" _Mariam,"_ Ozuma said, this time with a little more urgency.

"Fine, what? What is it?" she said, tearing her eyes away from Tala.

The redhead watched as Ozuma, with a stern expression on his face, raised his eyebrow a little pointedly before flashing his emerald eyes toward Tala and Spencer ever so briefly. Her eyes followed his and, as the light of understanding dawned in her eyes, Tala could have sworn he heard the metaphorical penny drop.

"…Oh," she breathed, bringing a hand to her mouth. "It's you guys. You're the bladers from Moscow…"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Nothing much to report here, besides the fact that its cold as balls over here right now. Dx_

 _Thanks to Raider3, and adbut for reviewing the last chapter, and to Lady-of-Reecia for showering me with reviews of past chapters this week! Also thanks to those who have favourited and followed so far, your support means a lot!_

 _As always, hope you've had a great week. See you next time!_

 _~ Indie_


	16. No Smoke Without Campfires

**Chapter Fifteen: No Smoke Without Campfires**

A heavy kind of silence descended on the room in which nobody knew quite what to say.

To Tala's right, Spencer was watching the trails of smoke from the fire dance up through the air, twisting and turning about until they found the open window and were carried away by the breeze. The chattering in the corner had stopped. Occasionally, Mariam and Ozuma exchanged a look with Dunga on the opposite side of the fire, and Tala could see that they were distinctly less comfortable than they had been five minutes ago.

He glanced over at Bryan to the far left who was, surprisingly, the most at ease out of anyone. He had… melted, it seemed. Slouching low against the wall, Bryan was absentmindedly forming guitar chords with his left hand and he watched with an incredibly satisfied smirk on his face as Mariam's confidence seemed to diminish by the second. She wasn't afraid of him before. But then, she hadn't really known who he was.

Just then, the silence in the room was interrupted but the loudest, most exaggerated snore Tala had ever heard in his life.

Almost comically in unison, the occupants of the cabin turned their heads to the corner of the room and saw Ian standing over the unconscious form of Joseph. The pint-sized, crimson-eyed blader prodded the sleeping boy with the toe of his boot and scoffed at Mariam, "Your brother's a fuckin' lightweight – can't stay up for shit."

And just like that, the tension in the room evaporated. It was silly, really, but everyone started laughing a little lightheadedly – even Bryan gave a chuckle, and he hadn't had anything but a scowl on his face all evening.

Ian trudged over to his sleeping bag next to Bryan and flopped down on top of it, propping his chin up with his hands. "It was called Balkov Abbey, by the way," he said.

Mariam nodded. "Right," she said, a little awkwardly, glancing around at each member of the Blitzkrieg Boys in turn.

"Don't do that," Spencer said, suddenly. His eyes were still watching the smoke in the air.

Her emerald eyes traveled over to him. "...Do what?"

"That," he said. "Look at us like that. Like we're some kind of tragic case." Then he looked down at her with his clear, untroubled, sky blue eyes and smiled. "We're not."

She blinked, at a complete loss for anything to say.

"Well, that makes a first for the day," Tala snarked from the floor. Her eyes flicked over to him now and he could see that she didn't follow. "You," he clarified, "Being rendered speechless."

From the corner of the room both Bryan and Ian snickered a little cruelly and Mariam sent them a glare. Only this time, it was marred a little by her incredulity.

"...Is there any truth to them?" Ozuma asked.

"What, to the rumors?" Tala pushed himself up off the floor and leaned his weight back on to the palm of his hands. Fixing his cool, blue eyes on Ozuma, he shrugged and said calmly, "Well, there's certainly no smoke without fire… I don't know what you've heard, but I'd be willing to bet it doesn't even scratch the surface of what happened inside those walls."

There were a few seconds during which Ozuma and Mariam exchanged another look - their imaginations running away with them, no doubt.

"Unless," Bryan chipped in from the corner, "You've heard the rumors about it being some kind of dodgy underground brothel where we were all sex-slaves. 'Cause in that case, you couldn't be further from the truth."

Everyone in the room looked around at him disbelievingly, Tala, Spencer and Ian included.

"What?" Bryan said, his eyebrows furrowing defensively. He turned directly to Tala, "You haven't heard that one? I don't even live in Russia anymore and I've heard it!"

Tala broke out into a laugh. "Bry, I don't know who you've been talking to but I have _never_ heard any rumors like that – and believe me I've heard some pretty imaginative ones."

"Eurgh, tell me about it," Ian cried, pulling a disgusted expression.

Spencer chuckled lightly. "Hey, Ian," he called, leaning forward to look around his captain at the snake wielder, "D'you remember the one I told you about that was floating around St. Petersburg last spring?"

"Eurghh, no! Stop it right there!" Ian cried, shaking his head and covering his ears. He completely ignored Bryan when he began to prod him in the ribs, demanding to know what the rumor was. Tala and Spencer snickered at them, and when they looked back around they noticed that Mariam and Ozuma were looking at them as though they'd each grown a second head.

"...What?" Tala asked, smiling lightly.

Mariam was the first to speak. "But you all seem so… normal!"

There was a moment in which Bryan caught Tala's eye and the falcon blader gave him one of those small, rare, genuine smiles, and Tala knew he was remembering that conversation on the bench they had about this time last week during which Bryan scoffed at his complete incredulity at being… normal.

"Well, almost," Tala said smugly.

"It's all a matter of perspective," Spencer added thoughtfully. "And choice. Walk the streets in Moscow and chances are you'll find some old Abbey boys who've decided to shoulder their scars and carry their curse – even now, when they have no reason to. They push the world away, scorn and shun everything that isn't what they know." Tala nodded grimly at this, remembering all too well. "The only difference between them and us is that we've chosen our paths. Haven't we Ian?" he asked, with a sideward glance and the dark-purple haired blader.

"Damn straight we have," Ian grunted happily in reply.

"And what path might that be?"

Ice met emerald as Tala's eyes flashed over to the other captain. He found that there was nothing he could read in those mysterious green depths. Cool and collected, but there was definitely a spark of something there, though – whether it was a challenge or just curiosity, Tala couldn't tell.

Tala raised an eyebrow. "Whatever the hell path we want."

Ozuma paused for a moment. It was a very long moment in which Tala could almost feel the weight of their worth and acceptance hanging in the balance. He waited with baited breath, trying to figure out why this was so important to him. Why it mattered that this young man and his team, so far removed from the world that they grew up in, might accept them for who they were. And then Ozuma nodded in consideration, his lips turned up into a easy smile. That expression was something Tala understood. It was acknowledgement and respect. Whatever the boy might have heard before, it was disregarded now as he leant back on his elbows and surveyed the Russian team one by one. Clean slates all round.

"Anyway, enough about us," Spencer said, stepping outside of himself and breaking the silence. "What about you?"

Mariam shifted back onto her stomach again and propped her chin up. "Hm? Us? What about us?"

The blonde shrugged. "Anything. Where you're from, what you do… whatever."

"There's… really nothing that exciting to tell," Ozuma said, kicking back and laying back down on top of his sleeping bag again.

Bryan snorted in derision. Tala noted that he was fidgeting with his zippo lighter now, flicking the top open and closed and creating an annoyingly repetitive, metallic rhythm. "Come on," he grunted. "Entertain us. When you've been a goddamn child soldier all your life, even nothing is something new."

Tala rolled his eyes. "Feel free to ignore our agonizing musician in the corner."

The grey eyed teen scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "...Our _what?"_

"You heard. Bry, just have a damn smoke already. You get all… poetic when you're craving and, frankly, it pisses me off."

The only answer was a defiant glare from hard, stony eyes. Tala smirked. Oh, Bryan wanted that cigarette, but he was damned if he was going to be told that he needed it. He stubbornly stowed the lighter in his pocket and folded his arms, kicking Ian roughly when the pint-sized blader began to snicker.

Tala turned back around the people before the fire and picked up where Spencer left off. "You're obviously bladers. But are you a sponsored team or… do you teach, travel?"

"We travel," Mariam said, eyes sparkling in the firelight. A smile crept around her mouth now that the atmosphere had softened into one of normality.

"...In a sense," Ozuma added. He smirked, almost as if he was enjoying some kind of private joke. "Mariam – what is it that Joseph likes to call us, again?"

The blue haired girl erupted into a peal of laughter and she glanced wryly over her shoulder at the small, sleeping boy. Her smirk widened. "He says we're secret seekers."

"Ah, yes that's it," Ozuma said, his smirk widening to a grin as he shifted around into a more comfortable position. Arms back behind his head with one leg crossed over the ankle seemed to do it. "Secret seekers," he repeated, allowing himself one breath of a laugh.

Mariam sobered up and cleared her throat. "We travel around chasing old legends," she said, turning to Tala and Spencer in explanation.

"More specifically," the dual-haired captain said, eyes closed, "Old legends that we think might have to do with sacred spirits and bitbeasts."

"Oh, really now?" Tala said, raising an intrigued eyebrow. He glanced sideways and saw that the blonde looked just as intrigued as he.

Tala's interest in this team was piqued, a little grudgingly, right from the beginning. They were the first beybladers he'd come in close proximity to besides the other boys from the Abbey. Of course, there were also the teams they'd encountered at the Championships in Moscow, but they didn't count. The circumstances were… different. There, Tala and his team had been enemies to each of them – but here, they were free to be whatever they felt. And right now the redhead felt curious. He wondered vaguely what it might be like to be them... to have the freedom of going anywhere they wanted, with no other reason than because they wanted to. Smirking, he glanced sideways at Spencer, knowing that he would catch that rarely seen spark in his pale blue eyes.

Out of anyone included in their circle in the Abbey, Spencer was the only one with enough nerve to have ever voiced out his curiosity and desire for what lay outside those grey stone walls. You wouldn't think it to look at him, forever quiet and unreadable – but behind the wall of silence lay hopes and dreams and a spirit that yearned for adventure.

"Actually, that's why we were in Russia last year," Mariam continued.

"Yes, you mentioned." Spencer shifted slightly, leaning forward. "Whereabouts in Russia?"

"Oh, all over," she replied with a lazy flick of the wrist. "For a couple months or so in the summer. And," she added jokingly, "I have to say I've had warmer summers. But anyway, we went to the Averinka treasure cave, to those strange stacked pyramids near Lake Baikal, the ruins at Arkaim –"

"Russia's own Stonehenge," Spencer interjected.

Mariam's smile brightened. "Yes. Coincidentally, we've seen the real Stonehenge in Britain, too. But... I prefer the site in Arkaim – it's more… mystical looking. Oh! Ozuma," she said, swatting him on the leg excitedly, "What was the name of that place with all the paintings on the walls?"

"Hn? Oh, erm…" the captain grunted, frowning. His voice was heavy. Tala smirked – must've drifted off into a comfortable half-sleep. "Kapova cave. I think."

"Yes, that's the one," Mariam said, snapping her fingers. "All those drawings on the walls... I swear to you, we could have found something there if we'd just stayed a day or two longer," she said, sending a half-hearted glare at her captain, which went quite unnoticed as his eyes were still closed. "There were pictures everywhere, like hand paintings of all kinds of animals and beasts I've never seen before… aah, and then there was that salt-lake! What was it called, Ozuma?"

The captain groaned. He opened his eyes and propped himself back up into a sitting position. "I don't know, Mariam. Lake… something complicated. Began with B, I think."

"...Baskunchak?" Spencer offered.

"Does it have all those logs sticking out of it?" Mariam asked. Spencer nodded. "Yes, that'll be the one, then! It was all dried up when we went but still, it was so open and wide and white and… " Mariam shook her head and smiled. "It was something else."

Spencer watched the girl as she stared into the fire, remembering all the things she'd seen, igniting his dormant thirst for sights and wonders, too. Her eyes wandered up to meet his.

"You seem to know quite a bit about places like these," she said softly.

Spencer nodded modestly, smiling. "A little."

Tala scoffed. "A little?" He punched the whale condescendingly on the shoulder while his eyes flashed over to Mariam wryly. "Spencer here has always been our team's little adventurer at heart."

Spencer shrugged his captain's hand away and raise an eyebrow. Little? There was nothing _little_ about him, thank you very much. "Go ahead and mock, just because I have more vision than you," he said sideways with a quiet smirk.

He chuckled, combed his fingers through his hair and shrugged his shoulders. "I have vision, too… I'd love to travel," Tala said over the warm crackling embers of the fire.

Ozuma looked at him, the flames reflecting unusual colours in his strange emerald eyes. "Have you been anywhere before?"

"No," Tala sighed. "I've never even seen outside of Russia before, until now."

"That's a shame," Mariam said wistfully. "It's a big world out there...there's so much to see. Hey – you should come travel with us after the tournament finishes." Her eyes were sparkling and sincere as she spoke, "We're planning on exploring some Tibetan ruins next, aren't we Ozuma?"

"Yes we are," the captain of the Saint Shields reaffirmed. "Perhaps we'll find another forgotten legend. You'd be more than welcome to join us, all of you," he said, facing Tala and Spencer again.

Tala smiled. "That would be nice. I'll be sure to think about it." He chanced a glance up to Spencer, who was also nodding.

"...Oh, hey look. It's getting really dark out, now. Must be getting late." Mariam's eyes looking toward the window. True enough, the sky was a dark, rich inky blue now save for the soft, languid glow of twilight at the horizon. Her eyebrows furrowed up. "I've just thought of something."

Tala raised an eyebrow. "You didn't hurt yourself, I hope."

Ozuma snorted, and she rolled her eyes with an 'oh ha ha' but ignored Tala's otherwise provoking words. "What happens if a team gets lost and doesn't make it to their safe-point before dark?"

Tala exchanged a look with Spencer and they shrugged at her in unison.

Mariam pouted and thought about it for a moment before shrugging too and wiggling into her sleeping bag. "Oh well, it doesn't matter. A night under the stars wouldn't be that bad… we've done it plenty of times. And the maps were really simple anyway – you'd have to be pretty darn inexperienced to get lost. Or just plain stupid. I guess they'd deserve it."

* * *

"Oh man, we are _so_ lost!"

"Would you stop panicking already, Enrique?" Johnny growled, trying his best not to betray to his team the churning lump of panic that was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. It felt like he'd eaten something extremely wiggly for lunch. "We're not lost!" he insisted.

"Yes we are! We've been walking around in circles for hours!" the blonde cried wildly. His normally perfect blonde curls were in a significant state of disarray from all the times he'd ran his fingers through it. "See that tree? I've seen it twice before, at least!"

"But Enri, _all_ these trees look the same anyway…" Oliver said in a soothing voice.

"No, look," Enrique insisted, storming up to it. He pointed to a twisted, crippled branch which had sadly lost over half its pines in whatever struggle had caused it to break in the first place. "See how it's all broken and mangled? We've passed it before, I just know -"

" _Christ_ , Enrique, move out of the way!"

The blonde looked over his shoulder and, to his horror, saw Rachel standing there with her stupid fancy camera, angling for a shot. She stepped once to the left, twisted the lens, tutted, then stepped twice to the right again.

"… _What are you doing?"_ he whimpered pathetically.

"Isn't it obvious? Have you even bothered to look around?" Rachel asked, in a very matter-of-fact voice. "The colour and quality of this light is amazing."

Oliver cast his eyes towards the skies and, reluctantly, he had to agree with her. The sun had descended below the horizon and the heavens were lit by the dying embers of sunset, birthing twilight. They stood beneath and inky canvas of stormy blue which, at its outermost point, was highlighted in a vivid and dazzling, dusky orange. What few clouds there were above them were thrown into sharp relief by the light, struck wonderfully gold at the edges. It really was beautiful. If he were back home in Paris, or at the villa with an easel at hand, it was the kind of scene he'd love to paint. The play between the colours was incredible. However, Oliver had to side with Enrique - now was probably not the time nor the place to appreciate it.

"Now?" the blonde continued, moaning incredulously. "You're taking pictures of the sunset _now?_ "

"Your observational skills are _astounding_ , Enrique…" Rachel muttered scathingly, crouching down on her knee and looking down the viewfinder.

"Johnny!" Enrique whined, turning around to face him.

"Shut up, I'm trying to read the map!"

Oliver sighed and sat right down on to the floor where he stood, not caring that it was dirty, not caring that the evening was growing increasingly cold. He wrapped his arms around his knees and looked at his team sadly, wishing that Robert was here. They wouldn't be falling apart like this if _he_ was leading them.

Johnny, meanwhile, was desperately consulting the map. He didn't want to believe it, but… what if they _had_ been walking in circles all this time? His map-reading skills had never failed him before… so why now, when it really mattered? He chewed his lip uncertainly and looked vaguely off into the distance. How on earth had they gotten into this mess? How did he plan on getting them all to safety before the slowly gathering darkness well and truly swallowed them? Why did Dickenson think this was a good idea anyway? And why… Johnny blinked.

Why were those trees smoking?

"Hey guys," he called, pointing into the distance, not taking his eyes off the smoke. "Do you see that?"

Enrique was by his side in an instant. "See wha- hey! Smoke!" He cried, a huge grin of relief breaking through his panic. "That must mean a campfire, right?"

"I'm hoping so," Johnny sighed, relief sweeping through him. He allowed himself a smile. "Must be the other team we were supposed to meet. Doesn't look _too_ far away, either."

"Well then what are we waiting for?" Enrique said loudly.

Oliver bounced to his feet and followed Enrique as he strode quickly forwards in the direction of the smoke. Johnny had to turn back and drag Rachel away by the elbow (" _Johnny!_ " she cried indignantly).

"Hey, Johnny," Enrique called, several feet ahead through the trees. "We need light!"

Certain that if he let go of Rachel's arm, he'd have to go back and collect her from the clearing again, Johnny fumbled one-handed through his backpack to search for the wind-up torch they had found at the cabin last night. He tossed it over to Enrique, who immediately went about winding it up, skipping along in the direction they saw the smoke like a happy, noisy beacon. Well, at least if the blonde went out of sight, Johnny would still be able to hear him.

* * *

"Michael! What - _what are you doing_?"

Michael leapt about a foot in the air as Emily's shrill voice came out of nowhere and shattered his eardrums. As if it wasn't bad enough that she'd all but broken his nose this morning.

"What?" he asked innocently. "I'm just gedding duh fire ready for dinner! And heeey, look whad I found…" he said grinning, suggestively wiggling the packet of sausages he found just moments ago at her. But Emily wasn't having any of it.

" _That_ close to the trees? Are you insane?" Emily cried, her hands waving around. "You're going to set fire to _everything!_ "

"Oh, don'd be such a draba queen," Michael said, waving her off. He was at least three metres away from the nearest tree. He knew what he was doing. "Why don'd you go and fill dat pot wid water for be," he said calmly. Then he looked darkly over at Eddy and Rick, both of whom were preoccupied over a game of poker with the deck of cards they'd found inside the supply crate. "Seeing as dose two layabouds aren't doin' nothin…"

"Anything."

"Huh?"

"They aren't doing _anything_."

"Yeah, dat's whad I just said. Didn'd you hear be?"

"Oh, forget it," she huffed tetchily. She was torn halfway between feeling guilty that Michael's nose was still swollen to the point of speech-impediment, and feeling justified because he asked for it with his stupidity this morning. "Just, don't you take your eyes off that fire for one second, okay? _Okay, Michael?_ "

"Yeah yeah, okay. I heard you, Eb – geez!"

As Emily busied herself with the pots and water containers, Michael got to his feet and took out his cell phone. He soon discovered that if he stood just here – no, wait, slightly more to the – aha, that's better. With enough signal to access the internet, Michael set about using his remaining twenty-three percent of battery life to find out what he could do with a packet of sausages, several potatoes, a couple tins of Heinz baked beans, some chickpeas and rice. He didn't bother including the apples or pears into the list, he'd probably decide that they should save those for breakfast. They would make those boring old crackers and crappy oatmeal much more interesting, for sure.

Now, if Michael had been watching the fire, like he'd been asked, he might have noticed that the dry wood was taking to the flame much faster than he'd planned. He might also have noticed that it was starting to crackle and snap and get a little out of hand. He might have seen the rather large spark that had just flown unnaturally high into the air, and he might have done something about it when it fell into the pile of dry leaves and pines he'd collected for kindling. If he was paying any attention at all, he might have noticed that this pile went up in flames _like kindling_. But as it was, Michael was a bit distracted by the recipe for a sausage hotpot he'd just found.

"Oh, dis looks good," he muttered to himself. Better still, they had all the ingredients, almost. Sure, they didn't have any onions… or tomatoes. Maybe they could use the beans instead of tomatoes? Mmm, that might be pretty nice actually… sausages and beans. Michael could almost smell the meaty, smoky goodness.

Emily screamed, shattering his food daydream.

Michael jumped and dropped his phone. As he spun around he heard a loud metallic 'clang' followed by the crashing sound of splashing water. He froze. Every joint in his body seemed to lock up when saw the flames dancing up and along the trunks of two trees.

"What happened!?" Emily cried, running towards the blaze.

The sight of Emily, dwarfed by the flames and wildly swinging a wet cloth at them to try and stop them from spreading, seemed to have pushed Michael back into action. Before he even knew how he'd gotten over there he'd grabbed Emily by the wrist and dragged her away from the fire.

" _What happened_?" she repeated madly through gritted teeth while wrenching her arm way, just as Rick and Eddy arrived on the scene, their poker game understandably forgotten.

Michael's hands flew up to his hat. "I - I don'd know! I just dook my eyes off id for a second and -"

Emily exploded. " _WHAT_ DID I _SAY_ , MICHAEL?!"

Michael raised his arms to protect his face and chest from her angry, hysterical little fists. "Bud id was jusd for a second, I swear!" he pleaded.

"Look, guys, this isn't helping anything," Eddy interjected, his voice low and tense. "We gotta do something about those flames before the whole forest goes up in smoke."

"How?" Michael groaned. "We don'd have an exdinguisher, id'll dake forever for ebergency services do get all the way out here, and dere's not nearly enough water in those boddles to put it oud quicker than id's spreading!"

At this, Rick took a second, evaluating look at the flames, which were enormous and had now jumped to a third tree. He dejectedly dropped large gallon bottle he'd picked up just moments before. "So what are we gonna do then?" he grunted. "Jus' stand here n gape at it?"

Michael was doing some quick thinking. Of course, his first instinct was to get his team and the supplies as far away from here as he possibly could. But that seemed incredibly reckless and irresponsible, not to mention cowardly. They couldn't just… let everything burn down.

"Wait, something's not right… why is it so – what the _fuck_?! Guys, stand back!"

Michael twisted around in the direction of the voice and saw a figure emerge from the trees. With a shock of auburn hair and sharp eyes, Michael recognised him immediately as one of the bladers from that snooty European team, but in his current state of mind he couldn't remember of his name. Within seconds, what Michael assumed were the rest of his team appeared directly behind him with varying expressions of surprise and fear on their faces. One of them dropped the flashlight he was holding, while the girl behind him would have dropped her camera to the ground in shock were it not hanging around her neck.

"Salamalyon!" cried the redheaded blader as he launched his blade and wasted no time in releasing his bitbeast. He sent the red spinning top spiraling around the rapidly growing inferno and it began spinning around the perimeter of the blaze. Michael saw, to his astonishment, that he was controlling the flames, drawing the fire in on itself and stopping it from spreading any further.

"McGregor?" Emily gasped, her voice half-way between bewilderment and outrage.

"Hey, York, what're you waiting for?" he ordered, recoiling from the heat. "I can't douse these flames on my own, get your blade out!"

"Wh – why? What good will that do?" Emily stammered.

Michael could have fallen on the floor laughing at McGregor's face if situation hadn't been so dire.

"Wha- what the fuck do you mean, what good – _Have you or havenae you got a water-spirit for a bitbeast, you daft b_ -"

Whatever profanity McGregor was about to let lose was drowned out as a deafening, echoing crack rebounded around the area. Moments later a thick, charcoaled branch had fallen right between the two teams, releasing a flurry of heat, ash and sparks when it hit the ground with a crunch.

"Oh!" Emily cried, suddenly understanding. She dashed away in to one of the two three tents they'd spent the evening putting up, and reemerged with her beyblade ready to launch. "Tryator, go!" she shouted, letting her blade fly. It hit the ground running and sped furiously towards the blaze. The small turquoise spinning top tore right through the burnt out branch without any hint of a struggle and then joined the bold red one beneath the burning trees. "Okay Trygator," Emily shouted furiously, "Hydro Tail!"

On command, Emily's armoured crocodile bitbeast rose up and dauntlessly faced the flames. Then, quicker than a whip, it turned around and brought its great, lithe tail smashing down, beckoning forth a sudden deluge of rain. Raindrops as big as baseballs thundered down, extinguishing the flames and soaking to the bone everybody standing beneath them. Rick, who had been watching the action pass open-mouthed, had been caught unaware and was now spluttering and coughing loudly, having almost choked on the sudden downpour.

"Are… are you alright?" asked the small, vibrantly green-haired boy from the European team with a tentative voice.

Rick, eyes pink and watery, face strained, slowly looked around to face him. "Never better," he croaked, with visible difficulty.

Michael let lose a laugh of giddy relief and soon, everybody else had joined in – even Rick gave a hoarse chuckle. They all gathered, tired, relieved, and slightly lightheaded from laughing, around the sodden campfire. Emily and the (no-longer) spikey, auburn haired blader, their beyblades recalled and stowed in their pockets once again, seemed to be stuck halfway between thanking and glaring each other down.

"Hey," Michael called, deciding to break up the silent battle of wills. "McGregor, was id?"

"Call me Johnny," he replied, turning around to face him.

"Johnny, den. I'm Bichael. Danks for jumpin' in man, id was a really good job dat you stubbled across us when you did."

"Good job that he doesn't lose his head in a crisis, more like," Eddy added jokingly, looking at Emily. "Honestly, I can't believe you could've put the whole thing out right from the start."

Emily bristled, her cheeks bright pink. "Yeah well, I didn't hear any of _you_ guys making that suggestion, either."

"Look, it was nothing," Johnny said modestly, scratching his nose. "I mean, sure, I probably saved you from a roasting and all but really, it was lucky for _us_ that you set your camp on fire, otherwise we might not have umm… Well, we might not have found camp at all…" he finished quietly.

Michael laughed good-naturedly with his obvious embarrassment at admitting such a thing. "So we're heroes all round den – great!"

The next few minutes brought on a round of introductions. The team from Europe was actually called the Majestics (Michael didn't know why this didn't come to mind sooner, as everybody could remember the battle at Olympia Stadium over who would face off against the Champions in Moscow). Their names were Johnny, Enrique, Oliver and Rachel and he discovered that, just as Rick was subbing for Steve, Rachel was subbing for the team's real captain, Robert. As it was, Johnny had taken the reigns for now and after his recent show of quick thinking and heroism, that was probably a wise choice.

The two teams continued talking jovially around the sodden fire pit, and it was only when the blonde Italian gave a particularly violent shiver that the teens remembered that they, too, were cold and wet.

"Guess we'd bedder go find sub bore wood for a fire?" Michael announced. There was a murmur of agreement all around.

An hour later, and the two teams were huddled around a cheerfully burning (and very safely placed) campfire once again. Johnny and Emily were squabbling about tennis, while Rachel and Oliver were arguing over the best way to cook the rice.

"It's two cups water to one cup rice, Rachel," he insisted.

"Well the finger-line method has never failed me yet," she replied defensively. "And besides, what if you don't _have_ any cups?"

"Have you seen _his_ fingers?" Oliver cried incredulously, gesturing at Rick, at which point the bulky blader looked down at his hands rather sadly. There was nothing wrong with his fingers, was there? "I'm sure the lines on his are _much_ further away than yours are," Oliver continued animatedly. "Fingers aren't a universal measurement, Rachel. And anyway, you should always have cups! _Why_ would you be cooking without cups?"

"Oh I don't know," she sang, looking around in mock speculation, "maybe because we're _camping_!"

Meanwhile, Rick's head was turning from one side to the other while they argued over him, snatching the pot to and fro between them. He didn't entirely understand why since _he_ was the one who had been tasked with preparing the rice to start with!

Soon enough, the large pot over the fire was emitting forth large amounts of gorgeously smelling steam. Oliver inevitably managed to take reign over the cooking and disregarded Michael's recipe entirely. Michael was secretly glad that he had. He would never have imagined adding apples to a sausage hotpot, but the combination amazing.

As night fell, the All-Starz and the Majestics tucked into their meal, which was sure to be far better than anything else the other teams would be eating that night. They exchanged stories of their travels and past battles, exaggerating here and there for dramatic effect. And as Michael finally crawled into the tent and wiggled into his sleeping bag next to Eddy, he almost didn't think he'd be able to sleep for excitement. He just absolutely _could not wait_ for this tournament to really get underway.

* * *

A/N: Hi guys. Last update on my page before Christmas. You're lucky I know I'd said something or other about Christmassy one-shots but I literally ran out of time! Have been working on a couple of side-projects that, hopefully, you'll be seeing sooner rather than later. But yeah, no one-shots. So sorry! Consider this an IOU for next year. :3

As for this chapter, apologies if you have trouble understanding anything that Michael's saying! Emily did in fact fracture his nose (LOL, sorry, I couldn't resist) and he's finding it a little difficult to articulate at the moment. :p If you need a translation of anything, feel free to post it in the comments or PM me. ;)

There are exactly four more chapters left to Convergence before Part II begins. I'm still working out one or two kinks, but it's coming along nicely. That's all I have to say for now. As always, thanks to everyone who reads, follows, faves and reviews, I love you all. I hope you all have a lovely, lovely Christmas or festive holiday season, and a very happy New Year!

Take care and I'll see you next time!

~ Indie 3

* * *

Japan in three days holy shiiiiiit! :DDDD


	17. Guilt and Grudge

_**A/N:** Hi guys! I'm back from my travels and ready to rock and roll again. Hope you all had a great holiday and that the New Year is off to an awesome start! I, unfortunately, have been knocked out by a really annoying cold pretty much since the day after I arrived home on Sunday. Boo! :(_

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen: Guilt and Grudge**

Mystel groaned and shifted around uncomfortably on the wooden floor. It was the same predicament as always. Too hot under the blanket, but just a little too cold without it to get nice and cozy. He'd settled for sticking an arm and a leg out, but then they got a little chilly and he had to switch them around again. Unfortunately, constantly alternating one's limbs wasn't exactly conducive to an excellent night's sleep. Or an excellent morning lie-in, rather.

The blonde knew it was morning because of the birdsong he could hear from outside their little wooden shack, and the slow, peaceful breathing from inside told him that he was probably the only one awake. Ah, what he wouldn't give to be sleeping soundly too.

Sighing, Mystel untangled his left leg and hips out of the blankets, pushed himself up into a sitting position and crossed his legs. Reaching his hands up to the ceiling, he stretched out his arms, his back, his neck, and yawned contentedly. Then he lazily opened his eyes and, through his mask, glanced around the room full of sleeping bodies. He frowned. Unless he was mistaken (and, honestly, he rarely was), there were far fewer sleeping bodies than there ought to have been.

Flipping lithely backwards onto his feet, Mystel scanned the room again.

Over by the burnt out fire he saw the scruffy blonde hair and heard the low, deep breathing of his captain. Lying with his back against the floor, his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other, Miguel somehow managed to look cool and in charge whether he was conscious or not.

Curled up a couple of feet away from Miguel was the baby-sister of their team. Cute as a button, Matilda was snuffling and snoring softly in slumber. Her breath rhythmically shifted the wispy tendrils of pink hair that hung over and around her face ...back and forth, back and forth. A small smile crept over his face as he watched her face wrinkle up in whatever dream she was having. He hoped it was a nice one, and smirked to himself as he wondered vaguely whether their captain was the leading-man in it.

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Brooklyn. The weirdo was sat on the table by the window for some reason, probably to watch for little animals the night before or something. So it was on the table where he rested now, with his back up against the wall and his chin down on his chest. A mass of fiery orange hair obscured his face entirely. He wasn't moving a single muscle or even making a single sound; it was pretty creepy and Mystel found himself wondering, once again, whether Brooklyn breathed in his sleep at all. Maybe he didn't and just entered some sort of one-with-the-universe kind of Zen-mode. It wouldn't surprise him.

Mystel placed a hand on his hip. He wasn't mistaken. There wasn't a single Tiger in sight, white, pink or otherwise. Besides Matilda there was no pink at all. And that was... disappointing. Oh well. He wasn't _too_ concerned. It looked like all their stuff was still around so they _probably_ hadn't ditched them. It wasn't like they had any reason to anyway.

Blowing out a lazy puff of air, Mystel shrugged and reached up a hand to remove his golden mask. With the other hand, he rubbed his eyes and poked a little gingerly at the bridge of his nose. He really preferred not to sleep with the thing on but, with the White Tigers around, he kind of had to. Thankfully though, this was the only night they had to spend together. In the envelope Matilda found nailed to the door of their shack there was, as on the previous days, a map and a letter. In it, Mr Dickenson – the crazy old bloke behind this whole being _abandoned-in-the-mountains_ thing – said that today would be the last they'd spend hiking through the forest because their final safe-point was the BBA's mountain-side training facility. Maybe they'd have team dorms there or something, and he could sleep easy once again.

Crystal-clear blue eyes flickered over to the side of the cabin again. Mystel was quickly growing bored, and there was very little to do. The coniferous fir trees in these mountain weren't exactly abundant in anything but needles and pine-cones. That meant no foraging for fruits for his breakfast. He tapped the toes of his left foot absently on the floor, thinking of something to do.

With a sly smile creeping around his face, he decided to give his captain a wake-up call. He padded silently over to Miguel's side of the room, hopped lithely over Matilda, twisted around in the air and landed neatly next to his captain's head. He then proceeded to prod him randomly around in the face with his toe. First his nose, then his chin, then his squishy little cheek…

The platinum haired captain made a valiant attempt at ignoring Mystel's trying behavior. But it was not to be. After one or two half-asleep, half-assed swats at Mystel's foot, the captain swung out violently with his left arm. He achieved absolutely nothing besides catching Matilda harshly around the back of the head.

"Aah!" she cried, waking up with a start and kicking out in surprise. She blinked blearily and questioningly around at the two blonde males, rubbing the back of her head as she sat up. "...What are you guys doing?"

"Yeah, Mystel. _What are you doing_?" Miguel half growled, narrowing grey-blue eyes at him. But his annoyance was heavily marred by sleep.

"Well good morning to you too." The blonde chuckled. "Sorry 'Til," he added with a cheeky, apologetic grin, scratching the back of his head. She just wrinkled her nose at him with a half-hearted scolding look.

"What is it, then?" Miguel asked again, sitting up and leaning his weight back on one of his hands. His voice was still heavy with sleep and he hadn't quite managed to put on his captain's tone yet.

"Nothing," Mystel shrugged. "Just thought I'd grace you this morning with my beautiful face."

"...Right."

"Oh, and the White Tigers are... um, gone," he said, in that casual off-hand voice as though it wasn't anything important.

"Gone?" Miguel repeated, his eyes flickering briefly around the cabin as if to check that this wasn't another of Mystel's jokes.

"Yep."

"...Did they say anything?"

"If they did I didn't hear it. Already gone when I woke up."

The pink haired girl looked worried. She bit her lip. "You don't think… they can't be onto us, can they?" Matilda said, looking between the two blonde males. "I mean…"

Mystel laughed it off with a wave of his hand. "How can they be?"

Miguel blinked up at Mystel and his eyes widened, as though the veil of sleep had left him and he was looking at his teammate clearly for the first time. "Did you sleep like that?" he accused.

"Huh? No - of course not," Mystel protested. "I'm not an idiot!"

"Good," the other blonde said firmly. "Otherwise, who knows, you might just've frightened them all off. You know we can't risk you being seen like this. It raises too many ques -"

"Yeah yeah, I know I know. Jeez," Mystel breathed impatiently.

"I wouldn't worry about the Tigers," said an airy voice from the corner.

Mystel twisted around and looked back at Brooklyn. He was awake now and was looking absently out of the window, threading fingers through his messy orange hair. "Wherever they went," he continued, "they're on their way back."

Mystel cocked an eyebrow and strode lazily over to stand beside Brooklyn, saying, "...And just _how_ do you even know that?" he asked, waving his arms around for added emphasis.

Brooklyn nodded out of the window. "The birds," he stated simply.

The blonde perched on the end of the table to peer through the window, arching his neck slightly to see over the trees. It caught his attention that the window was in pretty good condition, not grimy through lack of upkeep. He wondered vaguely whether or not these little cabins were built specifically for that Dickenson's little game. And then he remembered that he was supposed to be watching the birds, so he brought his focus to outside. He spotted a small flock of three or four little birds flying out of the tree canopy every now and then, as if they were disturbed and scared away by things passing through beneath them.

The blonde scratched the back of his head. "So... you're just assuming that's the Tigers?"

"No. I know it's the White Tiger team," said Brooklyn, looking at Mystel for the first time. His clear green eyes revealed a slightly puzzled look, as though he couldn't quite understand why Miguel had any reason to doubt him. "There isn't anything else large enough in these mountains to scare the birds away like that besides us. All larger animals will have been cleared away by the BBA long before our arrival, obviously..." he finished, waving a dismissive hand.

Mystel hid a snort behind a cough and backed away, heading for the only door. "Sure… well, might as well just go out and see. Wanna stretch my legs anyhow."

"Hey," Miguel called out just as his hand touched the door-handle. "Wait there a moment." When Mystel turned around again, he saw the captain was wearing his ' _I know what you're up to and I don't like it_ ' face.

"...What?" Mystel said innocently, the trace of a smile creeping around his face.

"Look, I don't really care _what_ exactly you're thinking but just… remember what we're here for. Okay?" Miguel said, his tone quiet and not unfriendly at all, but still firm.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Mystel replied, flicking sharp blonde bangs out of his vision and eyeing his captain.

"I mean you," Miguel clarified, folding his arms, "and that captain's little sister. I saw you yesterday. You're getting too friendly, Mystel, and we're not here to make –"

"– I know, I know," he cut in, growing a little impatient.

The cabin was a little airless and, frankly, Mystel wanted as little to do with enclosed spaces as possible. He'd rather be out in the wide open air than stuck in this dingy hut listening to Miguel's little _'we have a job to do'_ speech again. The guy needed to hang loose a little, and learn to have fun on the job!

"We're not here to make friends, just to weed out the competition and scout out the best for Dr K," Mystel continued, droning as though from memory. "But... honestly, I don't think she even _cares_ what we do along the way, so long as we –"

"It isn't Kellhardt I'm concerned about," Miguel cut in, catching his eye. She was the one they took orders from, but they all knew that _her_ orders came from a higher power. A power Mystel didn't really want to think too much about first thing in the morning.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. Whatever."

"And it isn't _him,_ either. It's you, Mystel." That caught his attention, as he wasn't exactly expecting that change in direction.

Matilda was still sitting on the floor by the gently smoking embers of the fire, watching their conversation with large eyes. Brooklyn appeared to be ignoring everything, as usual.

"Look," Miguel continued in a low voice. "Do whatever you want, you always do. Be nice, earn their trust, fine. But in a month's time when everything's put into motion and we're to blame, do you think the White Tigers, or anyone else for that matter, will trust us then? Or even like us?"

Mystel looked off to the side and narrowed his eyes. He supposed he looked like some kind of toddler being scolded. Of course they wouldn't be liked. He knew exactly why they was sent to the tournament, and it wasn't pretty. But it wasn't something he could get out of now, even if he wanted to. They were too far in to want out. It was… complicated.

"Of course they'll like us."

Clear blue eyes snapped up to gaze over Miguel's shoulder at Brooklyn.

"Or at least, they will if they have any sense," the redhead continued. "BEGA is giving them each a chance to become something… greater than themselves." Brooklyn turned his head and caught Mystel's eyes directly with a dark, greenish gaze. "If they fail to appreciate that then whatever happens afterwards is, frankly, their own problem."

A strange and uncomfortable silence followed afterwards. Then Brooklyn smiled, the dark glint in his eye replaced by an unassuming, friendly lightness. Sometimes, Mystel wondered whether he imagined the darkness beneath the surface. But he knew better. Of course it wasn't imagined.

"But that's just my opinion," Brooklyn finished, smiling lightly, turning to look back out of the window.

Mystel managed to resist the urge to say that no one asked for it. "Alright.., well, whatever. I'm still heading out anyway," he shrugged, stepping back and turning around again to open the only door.

"Fine," Miguel shrugged right back, placing hands in his pockets. "Oh, and don't forget –"

"– Yeah yeah, I know," Mystel said, waving him off as he stepped through the gap in the door. He placed his golden visor back over his eyes and twisted around. Through the closing gap in the door, Mystel gave a cocky salute and half a grin and he received a roll of the eyes in return. Then he bounded away and disappeared off into the trees.

Mystel made his way vaguely in the direction that Brooklyn nodded, thinking again how weird the redhead's thing with nature was. The blonde jumped lithely through the trees, reveling in the way the air rippled through his clothes and whipped through his hair with each leap. It felt like pure, unbridled freedom and it was his favourite thing in the world. He wasn't going to bother denying it. Mystel was flighty. He loved this freedom, in trying anything and going anywhere, no strings attached. He wanted the fresh air running though his hair, and not the closed restriction of that cabin and Miguel's advice.

Unfortunately for him, it was this flightiness that got him involved with BEGA to begin with, an intricate web that he just couldn't find a way out of. He ignored it for the most part, and made the most of its perks. He figured he'd find a way out eventually, he always did. That was just his way.

"Dammit 'Riah, how are you even this fast? You've got stupid girly hips, you're not supposed to be all... aerodynamic!"

Mystel paused at the sound of the voice, and his keen ears caught a peal of laughter and a teasing reply. Speaking of perks...

"What on earth, Kevin… aerodynamic? Ha! Maybe that goofy little ponytail of yours is messing up _your_ aerodynamics."

"You leave my ponytail alone!"

Mystel sniggered as he listened in on the exchange and then made a bee-line for the voices, expecting to intercept them somewhere. What he didn't expect was for a rush of green to suddenly appear from the trees and almost take his head off. Quick reflexes allowed him to duck and avoid being knocked unconscious, but the little green Tiger wasn't quite as lucky.

"Waaahh, you –!" he managed to blurt out incoherently as he twisted to the side to avoid colliding with him. But his foot slipped on the next branch and he fell down to the ground below, landing on his backside with a dull thud, leaving Mystel to ponder about the slight waft of fish that lingered in the air as he hung easily from the tree with one hand.

Chuckling lightly, the blonde decided he'd better check in on the little guy and see if he was okay. The little guy's comic entrance was quite the well-timed, welcome distraction. Mystel dropped down, flipping over once in the air and landed neatly on his feet beside Kevin just as he was picking himself up and dusting his backside off, grumbling.

"Show off," he muttered. "Just how d'you make that look so easy?"

Mystel grinned and winked. "Because it _is_ easy, my little friend." The green haired imp narrowed his eyes and readjusted what looked like a string of brownish-grey fish over his shoulder.

"Hey, Kevin, I heard a girly scream. Are you alright?"

Mystel looked up in time to see pink in the trees. Mariah blinked, the concern on her face misting to surprise and then recognition as her eyes drifted to Mystel. She smiled.

"Oh, good morning! What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," he called up at her, placing a hand on his hip and adopting a tone of mock-accusation. "You aren't trying to ditch us now, are you?"

"Hmm? No, of course not!" Mariah said. Then she grinned a little smugly. "We were out by the river getting breakfast for you all, actually."

Mariah pulled out a string of fish similar to Kevin's with a flourish and brandished them at him. Then she dropped down out of the tree too and the fish and the tendrils of her long, pink hair trailed out behind her in the air.

"Nice catch," Mystel said, gesturing to their haul. He held out his hand and Mariah handed him the line of fish – smallish, grey and brown, some with slight accents of red. "...Trout?" he asked.

"Umm… maybe?" Then she shrugged and laughed.

Mystel didn't know why, but he held on to the sound of her laugh. It reminded him of… childhood, he would've said, if it didn't sound so stupid. But listening to it made him feel like he was twelve years old again when the sun was bright, the breeze was light and he had his first taste of freedom. And it just felt good to remember that, he guessed. Maybe he _was_ making a subconscious effort to be around this girl. Maybe Miguel was right and he should try to keep his distance.

"Well, we only ever catch carp back home, anyway" Mariah continued, snapping the blonde out of his momentary reverie. "And this isn't carp."

"Looks nice though," he said, shooting a little enthusiasm into his voice. It wasn't that much of an effort though. He _was_ starving. "Gonna fry it up?"

"Sure," she said.

"Yeah," Kevin said, joining in now that he'd sufficiently massaged his backside back to health.

"Lee 'n Gary are lagging behind with some extra water for the rice, too."

"Sounds like a feast," Mystel said.

"Sure is," Mariah replied with a grin and sparkling eyes. "Breakfast, White Tiger Hills' style - our treat!"

* * *

" _Ohhh, you're my best friend -_ "

" _In a world we must defeeeend!_ "

" _Pokémon! Gotta catch…_ "

Salima glanced over her shoulder, not entirely able to suppress her giggles as she watched the trio behind her singing with joyful abandon. Then Kane, with his fists balled and face screwed up, suddenly stepped into the limelight with the next line. Salima's eyes practically burst with surprise as he reached a pitch she'd never thought him capable of.

" _A heart so true ~! Our courage will pull us through!"_

" _You teach me and I'll teach you!_ " Tyson and Max took over, their arms resting over one another's shoulders in a near faultlessly harmonised duet.

" _POK-É-MON!_ " the three cried in perfect unison. " _Gotta catch 'em all ~! POKÉMON!_ "

Salima turned away again and placed her hands over her mouth, almost beside herself with laughter at the expressions on their faces.

Earlier this morning, Max - the cute, excitable, blonde haired Bladebreaker - had let lose a groan of utter despair after rummaging frantically through his backpack only to realise that the battery in his Gameboy was totally out of juice. Tyson had laughed and made some joke or other about how he'd have to save the gym leaders for later but Kane's head had perked right up to get a better look at it.

"Oh wow," he'd said weakly, stumbling over to him, "You've got the Pikachu one?"

"Yeah, kinda neat, huh? It's still my favourite, besides the Triforce one. ("No way! You've got _that_ one too?!") My mom got it me on my birthday when I was eight," Max replied modestly, stowing the bright yellow happy thing sadly back inside his bag.

"Damn, I wanted that one so badly but _my_ mom said no. She didn't think I needed it when I already had the original and the cool purpley see-through one," Kane lamented.

After that, it was all anyone could do to get the three from talking about anything other than Pokémon. Sure, other games might have been mentioned as they traveled leisurely down the path through the trees, but conversation had mostly revolved around what Pokémon were their favourites, which of Ash's girl side-kicks in the show they'd liked the most ("Hah! It was _just_ a cartoon boys, remember?" said Hilary, in a slightly higher voice than normal once she'd heard this), which team set-ups they liked the most, their most memorable gym-battle, etc. etc.

"Man, that really takes me back," Salima heard Kane say a few moments after their performance had ended, in a strained but lazy sort of voice that made her think he was stretching. "Watching Pokémon used to be my favourite thing about Friday afternoons, besides my dad coming to pick me up for the weekend."

"Oh hey," Tyson chimed, "What movie was your favourite?"

"Oh, no contest. It has to be -"

Rei laughed easily besides Salima. "Those three," he chuckled, "they're really getting along like a house on fire, aren't they?"

"They sure are," Salima said lightly in agreement. "I don't think I've ever seen Kane this loose. He normally tries to keep things… cool, y'know. But it seems like he's having the time of his life back there now."

"Yeah, he's not the only one," Rei replied, having to raise his voice a little over the racket they were making behind him. He caught snippets such as 'Ash', 'Pikachu crying', and 'stone' but none of that made any sense to him. "Say, how did you guys all meet anyhow?"

"Hm? Oh, well, Goki and I know each other from way back," Salima explained, brushing a little dust off her leather jacket before continuing. "He used to live on the other side of the street from me – still does, actually. I was walking homel one day being… hassled by a bunch of bullies from school, teasing me about… well, nothing really - you know how kids can be. Then one of them decided to start throwing rocks at me -"

"No! Really?"

"Mm-hmm," Salima nodded.

"Assholes," Rei said angrily.

Salima laughed. "They were just stupid kids, Rei. Anyway, Goki saw them and he rescued me. He chased them off. He was so big, even back then - I can still remember their faces as they ran away! Goki kind of watched out for me from then on out, and we've been friends ever since. I met Kane at a summer camp about… three years ago now, I think. It was like, this really sporty, adventurey kind of thing - really, really fun. But there was this one kid who kept going around the camp, strutting his stuff, showing off his beyblade, trying to intimidate the other kids, just…"

"Spoiling it for everyone?"

"Yeah, exactly! So me and Kane happen to call him out on it one night at dinner from opposite sides of the room at exactly the same time. And we battled him right there and we won. It was kind of unfair, now that I think about it, going two-on-one on him like that, but… well he was just a load of hot air anyway."

"So I guess you became friends after that?"

"Yeah, totally! And it turned out that Kane actually lived on the other side of town from me, so I'd meet up with him at local tournaments and stuff. Oh, and Jim was a friend of Kane's from school, so he introduced us. Jim's super smart and very good with his hands. When we all decided to team up together last year, Jim kind of became, like, our mechanic, tactician, coach, researcher, dietician…"

"Sounds like he's a real Jack-of-all-Trades," Rei interjected, laughing.

"Oh, no," Salima said reverently, wide eyed. "Jim's much more than just that. Honestly, he's got more brains than the three of us put together. I know for a fact that we wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for him."

"Hey, don't talk yourself down like that," Rei scolded kindly. "I'm sure you're all great bladers in your own right."

"We're okay, I guess," Salima shrugged good-naturedly. "But I know that we wouldn't be anything without our blades, and we owe _those_ to Jim at least."

In the lull of conversation that followed, Salima turned her eyes to the front of their group. Some time during the afternoon, Hilary had decided to take point, so now she was brandishing the map before her and unabashedly barking out orders to everyone in tow, blissfully unaware that they generally went unheard, or ignored. Behind Hilary were Jim and Kenny, whom the Bladebreakers nearly always called the Chief. Kenny was their Jim and he made sure their blades and battle techniques were always in top condition. Max, Tyson, and Kane were still, of course, loudly and enthusiastically reminiscing about their childhoods, and behind them Salima saw Kai and Goki quietly bringing up the rear – what they could be chatting about she had no idea, but they looked happy enough. She grinned, reveling in the pleasantness of the atmosphere as they walked through the trees, really glad that everyone was getting along.

Somewhere in the distance Salima became aware of other voices, of joking and laughing, of rustling leaves and cracking branches. Then three things happened in quick succession: Hilary's constant, unabashed flow of orders and directions subsided with a tiny 'oh'; Jim and Kenny's conversation about weight disk materials and core magnetism came to an abrupt halt as they collided with the now motionless Hilary; each and every muscle in Rei's body writhed and tensed as he looked up, searched, and saw the source of the commotion. Salima craned her neck over the others and saw two people on the path before them. Suddenly she understood the dark clouds that now gathered and churned about in Rei's previously clear, golden eyes. She understood the tightening of his face and the silent clenching of his fists. This morning, the razor-thin scars that danced across his face and arms seemed only to be a trick of the light, catching here and there but never at the forefront; now they were horribly magnified, thrown into a sharp and cruel relief beneath the mottled sunlight that filtered through the trees. It was a devastating reminder of what had happened to him.

Everyone knew about the scandal in Russia – _everyone._ There was simply no escaping it. Every news channel, every radio station, every tabloid paper and magazine had reported on it so that, for some months two autumns ago, people spoke of little else. The sinister nature of that secret Russian institute, the plans that were foiled - it was the reason the Bladebreakers had skyrocketed to fame. It was also the reason that the sport of beyblade had suffered huge losses that year, its reputation blackened by risks too great to name.

 _He'd_ seen them first - the larger of the two boys on the path ahead, the one she knew was ruthless. He'd probably _heard_ them first, too, what with the noise that Kane and the others were making, although that was dead now. Whatever small light of life and mirth that may have been twinkling in his pale eyes was now extinguished. He stood there staring at Rei, with his hair the colour of crushed flowers and his grey eyes hard and barren, like a cold wasteland. Salima could look at him no longer; to do so sent shivers down her spine.

The seconds dragged on for what seemed like hours as Rei and the blader from Russia stared at each other across the path like some kind of painful and ridiculous parody of a Mexican standoff. Salima could almost hear the tension singing in the air. She chanced another sideways glance at Rei and almost stepped away from what she saw; there was a hardness in his eyes that didn't belong there, a bitterness that marred his previously serene and handsome face.

"I don't even know how you guys can show your faces here," Rei said bitterly. "I'd half hoped that you wouldn't have the gall to come, but I guess that was just wishful thinking."

If Salima thought the Russian boy's eyes were cold before, then what they sharpened to now told her as clear as day that she was dead wrong. Something in them shifted until all she saw was the honed, clean, unforgiving edge of a blade… until the boy next to him placed a hand on his shoulder. Controlling, or calming, Salima couldn't tell, but the edge in his eyes dulled down after that, blunted to cold stone once more.

"Why wouldn't we come?" he asked as he stepped forward, his vivid red hair and piercingly blue eyes a sharp contrast to the other's colourlessness. "We felt like this tournament needed some real competition and, well, who better to deliver that than us?"

Rei snorted derisively and folded his arms. His hands, Salima noticed, were still clenched into fists. "Right. As if there wasn't enough _competition_ last time."

The boy with the blue eyes smiled. It was measured, and careful, but dazzling all the same. Although she couldn't help but notice that the light of it didn't quite touch his eyes. "More is always better," he shrugged, almost too carelessly.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," someone said casually from behind. Salima glanced over in time to see Tyson stepping forwards through their group, clearly ill-at-ease with the tension in the air but with a stubbornly huge grin on his face nonetheless, looking for all the world as though he just wanted a peaceful reunion. He strode towards the redhead, hand outstretched. "It's good to see you again, Tala."

Tala smiled, accepted the hand and shook. "You too. How've you been, Tyson?"

"Good, good," he shrugged. "To be honest, I've been spoiling for a rematch with you ever since we got that letter from Mr D. Hey, s'the rest of your team here too?" Tyson hopped up onto the balls of his feet to peer around the taller teen.

"Yeah, they're somewhere," Tala replied absently, throwing a hand up to comb through his loose, crimson hair. His eyes roamed over the rest of the Bladebreakers and the Psykicks. Salima averted her gaze before he got to her – she had the impression that if she met his eyes directly it would feel like being submerged in an icy cold river.

"Ace, rematches all 'round, then!" Tyson cried, blissfully unaware of the way Tala discreetly sidestepped away from him and his unrestrained jubilation. "I hope you guys haven't let yourselves go," he jibed, trying to nudge the other teen in the side with his elbow. It was expertly and effortlessly dodged. By this point, Max had come to stand by his friend and was also making introductions.

"Huh. Yeah you'd like that, wouldn't you Tyson – good to see you too, Tate – an easy match to secure your stolen title?" he teased, laughing easily. "No, you won't be taking me by surprise like that again. I do hope we face each other again in this tournament though, should be interesting - Kai tells me you've been working hard."

"Well, tournament or no, I'll wanna face you any… wait. Kai said what?" Tyson said, his voice raising at the end with his level of confusion.

"I know, right? He's never been one to give out compliments, has he?" Tala joked, misinterpreting Tyson's question. "Speaking of which, where's he hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anywhere," the stoic captain of the team said as he strode forwards from the back of the group. Both his voice and his shoulders were a little tense. Salima didn't quite miss the unpleasant look Rei shot at him as he passed. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, beginning to feel that there was more to the tension here that she'd originally thought.

"Ah, there you are," Tala grinned. He nodded towards the treeline. "Was beginning to think you'd gotten lost out there, softened up by too much time with these guys."

"In your dreams," Kai replied airily.

"Pft, well that was weak. I think you _have_ gone soft."

"I'll show you _soft_ in a second."

"Wait wait wait," Tyson said, his eyes flicking suspiciously between the two of them. "Wait. Why are you guys so… chummy? I don't get it."

Tala blinked, clearly also not getting it. "Well, I know I have a reputation and all but… I _think_ I'm allowed to crack a joke every now and then," he said wryly.

"No no, not that," Tyson waved his words away impatiently. "I mean you. Kai. Last time we were all together he kinda hated you – no offence. How long have you two been speaking?"

Kai scratched his head and looked away. "What does it matter?" he asked evasively, while Tala cheerfully volunteered, shrugging, "Oh, I dunno, since like… February? January before last? He swung by and got me and Ian out of -"

Tyson gaped. As Tala rambled on, Kai looked as though he couldn't decide who to glare at harder. He eventually settled for staring daggers at Tyson as the teen gasped dumbly, " _January before last?_ What the hell, Kai? And we practically had to drag you back to Bakuten two months ago? I thought - I thought _we_ were your team! Your _friends!"_

"What does that have to do with anything?" he growled in response. His crimson eyes turned a shade darker.

"Err, everything?" Tyson replied hotly.

"Oh, really? Enlighten me then, Tyson."

"Well, like, the fact that we thought you just - just dropped off the face of the earth after the Championships, but you were actually just cozying up to your old team the whole time!"

"Hn, I don't _cozy_ up to anyone."

"Well it sure sounds like it to me. I mean, you were quite happy to just shut _us_ out completely."

"Can you even hear yourself right now?" Kai asked angrily. "You know, this might actually be funny if it weren't so stupid."

"Well you might as well just admit to it – you've always found us to be a bit of a joke, haven't you? I don't even know why you bothered coming back," Tyson accused irrationally, pacing with agitation and wringing his cap around in his hands.

Salima watched the exchange, her head turning to-and-fro almost like she was watching a tennis match, until Rei spoke over them scathingly.

"You know what? I don't have time for this. We'll be at the last checkpoint, whenever you guys have finished with your little _domestic_." Rei marched ahead brusquely. Salima thought for a minute that he was going to shove past the pale Russian blader and gasped, but the pair never made contact. There was something about Bryan that terrified her. She breathed a sigh of relief as Rei passed by him unscathed. "Are you guys coming or what?" he called over his shoulder to them irritably.

"Uhhh, yeah!" Kane called after a few seconds, blinking to clear his head. "Yeah, I could really do with a shower when we get there, actually," he said lightly, trying to pick the mood up. Salima felt him grab her by the elbow and squeeze. "I hope they do _have_ showers there."

"Oh, umm, yeah!" Salima agreed, taking her cue. "I mean, I just feel so grimy after the past few days. A girl needs to relax and recharge, right Hilary?" she said, catching up to the girl who, for the past few minutes, was lost between looking worriedly at Tyson and Kai and staring up at the Russians like a deer before headlights.

"…Recharge?" echoed Max, perking up. "Oh, yeah, my Gameboy - I hope they have power outlets down there, too!"

It didn't take long before the Psykicks and most of the Bladebreakers had taken the hint. Eventually, Tyson, Kai, Tala and Bryan were the only people left standing in the clearing. Salima felt rather than saw Hilary stop and look back. Clearly, she didn't want to leave Tyson alone back there.

"Come on, Hil, they'll be okay," Salima said, trying to give her a reassuring smile. "They're big boys, they can sort this out themselves."

Hilary looked torn but began to take a few steps forward. "Yeah…" she said slowly. "Hopefully."

"Definitely," Salima affirmed, linking arms with the other girl. Together they brought up the rear of their group, leaving behind the silence in the clearing and the sight of Tyson alone with the two Russian bladers, and Kai.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Okay, there we go, this week's update! Not much else to say about it really other than I hope you enjoy it. As always, let me know what you think and, if you've got any questions, I'll be happy to answer them for you._

 _See you next time!_

 _~ Indie x_


	18. Arrival

**Chapter Seventeen: Arrival**

Tyson waited for the sounds of the others' footsteps to disappear. Soon enough, there was only silence in the clearing.

Kai stared resolutely to the side, past Tala's shoulder and off in the direction that the others had left. Tyson knew they'd long since vanished from sight but his captain was resolutely refusing to make eye contact with him. This made Tyson even angrier – and he wasn't even completely sure why he was so angry in the first place.

Sure, Kai could be a jerk, he knew that. Everyone knew that. What Tyson didn't know was how much it would hurt to find out that Kai could just… ignore them all - ignore _him_ \- so completely. If he was honest with himself, it wasn't the first time that it had happened and it probably wouldn't be the last. Kai regularly made a habit of ignoring Tyson; for instance, whenever he was talking too loud, or eating too loud, or breathing too loud… but none of those things really mattered. They weren't important.

But _this_ was important. Kai ignoring him and the rest of the Bladebreakers for more than a year was important. Why would Kai just run off to his old team? _They_ were the ones who had caused nothing but grief during the Championships, the ones who just wanted to use Kai for their own ends. What could they possibly offer him that the Bladebreakers couldn't? Tyson had thought that they were friends. He thought something had changed between them that day on the ice when they'd all worked together to pull Kai out of his shock and despair - when they'd saved his life. He thought they'd come to some sort of… unspoken understanding. But apparently not.

Tyson soon grew sick of the silence. "So, you've really got nothing to say?"

Kai did nothing but tut, run a hand slowly through his bangs, close his eyes and fold his arms. "Nope."

Tyson laughed. It was an empty and hollow sound. He was too used to this familiar sight and too pissed off by it to be properly amused. "Of course you don't. You never do." Tyson pushed his jaw forward stubbornly, a little too far gone in his anger and betrayal to care what he said next. Because that's how he felt. Betrayed. "You know, I thought we finally got somewhere with you after the Championships," he continued, wringing his cap around angrily between his palms. "I thought what happened out on the lake in Moscow might actually have meant something -"

"That's pretty low Tyson, don't you think?" Tala stepped forward, intervening. Tyson almost forgot he was there.

"You weren't even there, so how would you know? And don't talk about low to me," he retorted. He threw his hand out to the side and pointed. "He's the one who's always made a habit of ditching people with no goddamn -"

"That's enough." Kai opened his dark eyes and stared unflinchingly straight at Tyson. "I don't need to stand here and listen to you bitching around and I sure as hell don't need to explain myself to you. Now we have somewhere to be and a tournament to prepare for. You're wasting my time."

With that, Kai turned on his heel and left. Simply walked away with Bryan in tow. The sight made Tyson even angrier.

"Fine!" he yelled, waving his cap around angrily at Kai's retreating form. "Walk away like you always do!"

"Kai's right, Tyson," Tala said. "That really is enough -"

"Oh don't you start," Tyson said angrily, shooting the Russian a dirty look. He kicked at the dusty ground dejectedly. "Just go. You're the ones he chose. You've already won, you don't to stay here and need to rub it in."

Tyson dragged his feet towards the nearest tree, plopped himself down on the ground near it, and sulked. With Kai gone, Tyson felt his anger evaporating in waves leaving behind only a dull ache and the realization that, really, Kai was probably never his friend to begin with and it was stupid of him to think otherwise.

He didn't feel like going off towards the training centre anymore, the sight of his captain would only rile him again. And he didn't feel like looking at Tala or anyone or anything else, for that matter, besides his own feet. So he sat there and sulked and hoped that Tala would leave him alone to his sulking. Only, Tala's ever growing laugh was making it incredibly difficult for him to remain focused on sulking.

"…What?" he growled.

"You're pathetic," Tala said bluntly, pocketing his hands. "It's not about – it's never been about winning!" He paced around for a few moments, whether waiting for a response or trying to gather his thoughts, Tyson didn't care. "You really don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?" Tyson grumbled reluctantly.

"Geez, I actually thought you were smarter than this…" Tala chuckled again and then walked towards him. He perched his backside against the trunk of the tree nearest Tyson. "Okay. Between you and me – and I really do mean between you and me, because if Kai gets wind of this, we're probably both dead, but – between us… your friendship means more to Kai than he's ever going to admit… even to himself."

Tyson rolled his eyes. "Don't defend him."

"I'm not, I'm trying to make you see him for what he is – besides a selfish asshole. You know, for all the time that you guys spent together through the tournaments… you really don't know him at all, do you? And, yeah, part of that probably is his fault."

Tyson was quiet, perfectly still as he waited and listened to Tala speak to him. Tala of the Demolition Boys, of all people. Tala who, not even two years ago, was bent on taking over the world. Well, that wasn't really _his_ idea – the whole world domination thing was down to Kai's delusional grandfather and that other evil man, Boris. But still, Tala was scary. Tala was a very powerful and strong blader and, even though they shook hands and put their differences behind them at the end of the battle, he wasn't a person that Tyson would ever want to mess with. But here he was, speaking calmly about Kai, trying to talk Tyson out of his anger. It was so weird.

"You said before, that Kai _chose_ us," Tala continued.

"…Yeah?"

"He didn't," Tala shrugged. "He never chose us."

Tyson frowned. "What?"

"He was just… stuck with us. Right from the start."

"I don't understand."

"So I keep telling you," Tala grinned wolfishly, almost as though Tyson was missing out on some great private joke.

"I don't get it," he said dumbly.

Tala's grin faded and he sobered up some before he began talking. "… Kai ever told you much about his time in the Abbey?" he asked softly.

Tyson held his breath at the mention of that name. Kai hadn't told them any of them a single thing about the Abbey, of course, besides that it was the place he grew up. When he, Rei, Max and Kenny broke into it that one time, Tyson saw enough of the place to know that it shouldn't ever have existed in the first place. He repressed a shudder and said, "No, not really."

Tala nodded. "Yeah, I didn't really expect him to, and – no, I'm not telling you shit about it, either," he said firmly in response to Tyson's suddenly intrigued swivel. "That's his place, not mine."

Tyson folded his arms and groaned. Stupid Tala. Why bring it up if he wasn't going to say anything anyway?

"Just, believe me when I say this," he continued. "You and your team are the first people outside of the Abbey who have accepted him and tried to befriend him time and time again. He doesn't understand why, but I know that it means a lot to him," Tala said quietly. He tucked his loose bangs behind an ear and looked serenely out into the distance.

That was the first thing Tyson noticed that was different about Tala when he first stepped through the trees: his hair. No longer spiked up into those strange… horn things, he wore it loose. What parts of it were long enough he'd scooped back into a messy hair tie while the rest framed his face and hung around his jaw. It was a softer, casual, easy-going European kind of look, and Tyson thought it was a great improvement to his previous hard lines and scary angles. It was only now, Tyson realised, that those changes applied to his face, too. Everything about Tala was less intimidating, more relaxed. Being out of the Abbey suited him, Tyson thought.

Now if only the same could be said for Kai…

"Well, he's got a funny way of showing it…" Tyson muttered, trying to smooth out the creases he'd created in his hat with a furrowed brow. "He never tells us anything."

"Probably because he doesn't want you to have anything to do with that time of his life," Tala shrugged. "I know I wouldn't."

"Why?"

"Bad things happened," Tala said simply.

"So… he doesn't trust us with that information," Tyson concluded.

"Yes… and no."

"Then what?"

Tala made an exasperated noise and shook his head. "I've already said too much."

"Oh come on," Tyson groaned, throwing his hands up in the air and also involuntarily throwing his cap. "You can't just – ah, shit. Where'd you – there. You can't just leave me hanging like that!" Tyson exclaimed once he'd recovered his cap. "It's not fair!"

Tala raised an eyebrow.

"Tala!"

"Alright, don't start whining, jeez!" Tala said, almost covering his ears from the assault of Tyson's voice. He rubbed his right temple and continued, "All I was going to say is that Kai is significantly more comfortable when _he's_ the one walking away and… I'm just guessing here – and my guesses are generally pretty accurate – but I'm guessing that he's worried you guys will walk out on him once you find out what he was like before he left the Abbey and lost his memory."

"Seriously..?" Tyson frowned, mulling this over for a while. He couldn't quite get his head around it. Kai, worried that they'd ditch him? He betrayed them in Russia and was even willing to steal their bitbeasts for Boris, but Tyson and the rest of the Bladebreakers still wanted him back after that, not just on their team but as their friend as well. What could Kai possibly have done that was worse than that? "…What did he do?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Tala was quiet for so long before he spoke, Tyson almost thought he hadn't been heard. But then Tala let out a long, heavy sigh. "He did what needed to be done," he said, staring at the floor gravely. "We all did."

A chill ran down Tyson's spine as his imagine ran away with him. But then he quickly squashed those thoughts. No matter what might have happened before, Kai was their friend and he always did what was right in the end. He'd never let them down before, not when it really mattered. "And Kai doesn't want us to judge him for any of that?" Tyson asked.

"...I think so. Like I said, we were stuck with Kai. But _you_ guys chose him, over and over again. He doesn't want to lose that. He'd rather throw it away himself than have it taken from him, trust me."

Tyson looked at Tala speculatively. "…Why are you telling me all this?" he asked dubiously.

"…Because Kai's my friend," he replied, shrugging. "And you're his."

Tyson placed his cap back on his head and thought about Tala's words. Thought about the way he'd reacted and the things that he'd said. Thought about the look in Kai's eyes before he walked away and how now he suddenly understood what it meant. He groaned. "… I've been an idiot, haven't I?"

"You want me to answer that?"

"Nah."

"You've been an idiot."

"Hey!"

"But so has Kai. Hell, everyone is an idiot except for me, didn't you know?"

Tyson laughed, feeling much happier and lighter now that his anger had left him. "Thanks, Tala," he smiled.

"Don't mention it," Tala said, waving away Tyson's thanks. Then his smile disappeared and suddenly Tala morphed into the person that Tyson stood across the beydish from nearly two years ago, all serious and intimidating with eyes like a frozen hell that promised much pain and misery and death. "Seriously, don't mention it," he threatened.

… What the fuck!?

"Errr, umm. Sure dude… okay. I won't – I won't mention anything."

"Good." Tala stepped back and smiled pleasantly, as if nothing strange had happened. He began to walk along the path that everyone else disappeared down. "Now let's get moving. And hurry up," he called over his shoulder, not seeming to care that Tyson was still frozen to the spot. "I won't have you embarrassing me by making us the last ones there."

* * *

The common room was bright and cheery and filled with the lazy hum of anticipation and excitement. It was a very cosy and well-lit room, all open spaces with no dark corners or places for things to hide.

The south wall was not really a wall but rather a series of huge, glass panes that opened out into the mountains, showing off one of the most spectacular views. Whether morning, noon, or evening, the sight of the sun easing its way from east to west above the mountains could always be seen. Along this glass-wall, three beydishes were lined, large enough to accommodate a friendly match or last minute practice but small enough to fit in the room without being overbearing.

To the west there was a small kitchenette, a sink, a fridge, a vending machine and some cupboards. Mystel and the White Tigers had raided those already – they were filled with fruits, nuts, cereal bars and other healthy snacks. A counter lined with American-style diner stools separated this area from the rest of the common room. A huge plasma screen TV was mounted up on the east wall, surrounded by cosy sofas, armchairs and squishy patchwork poufs. On one of these poufs sat Matilda. She was curled up almost completely into a ball, hugging her knees protectively, covered in a faint sheen of nervous sweat and feeling very much as though she was under a spotlight.

"…I mean, I've just got such a round face," blabbered Mariah animatedly, combing her fingers through her thick candyfloss locks. "Short hair has always been something I've wanted to try – and it looks so good on you – but I just don't think it'd suit me!"

"Don't be silly," Matilda reprimanded kindly, forcing a smile on her face. "You're so pretty that you'd suit anything, Mariah."

"You really think so?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed brightly.

"I suppose it's always getting in my way anyway," she huffed, throwing her mass of pink hair back over her shoulder. "In this heat, it's almost unbearable. And I can't even count the number of times I've been hit by a blast of wind and been blinded by it mid-battle," she laughed.

Matilda allowed herself a giggle, too - this was something she could relate to. "Well having a haircut won't help you there, I'm afraid – you don't think I carry these around for fashion purposes, do you?" she laughed, releasing the iron grip she had on her knees to gesture to the goggles around her head.

"Oh! Well, make sure you have those with you if you ever battle Tyson, then," Mariah said animatedly. "I swear… that boy has a thing for spinning tornadoes every single time he blades!"

"Is that so?" Matilda asked shyly.

"Yeah! And you'll want to watch out for Michael of the All-Starz too, I think his bit-beast is wind element as well," Mariah said, combing fingers through her hair thoughtfully. "Although... if he treats this tournament anything like the last one, he'll probably be too busy showing off to blade properly."

Mariah laughed while Matilda sat there and squirmed guiltily. She shot a covert glance across the common room, but Miguel was too busy spinning a friendly match against Lee to notice her.

She really liked Mariah. She was confident and bubbly and friendly… everything Matilda wasn't. To make matters worse, she was ridiculously trusting, too. This was no doubt amplified by the fact that there was nothing about Matilda that looked anywhere near untrustworthy. So Mariah continued to sit there and ramble on about the other people in the competition and how she hoped to blade them, what she thought their strengths and weaknesses were and details that she remembered from previous battles. All the while Matilda was acutely aware that the entire room had been bugged weeks ago and that every word was most likely being recorded and listened to back at headquarters right now.

"Rei! About time you got here!"

The girls looked up as Kevin's voice pierced the quiet hum of the room. At the entrance, more bladers were spilling in. Some, Matilda recognised as members of the Bladebreakers, the current world champions – she immediately noticed that two of their number were missing; the others she recognised as the Psykicks, recently sponsored by BEGA for the purposes of the tournament, another pawn in their game of smoke and mirrors. They knew nothing of the end game, of course.

"Oh Rei!" Mariah squealed, catapulting off from her place on the sofa and vaulting across the room. She flew through the air and threw her arms around his neck; he nearly fell to the floor with the force of her.

"Hey Mariah, it so good to finally see you again too!"

Matilda watched sadly as the teams greeted each other if known, introduced themselves if not. Lee and Miguel brought their battle to an end and the noise in the room increased three-fold as everyone got talking. Kevin and Gary went about the motions of showing people around the kitchen while two girls - the red-haired Psykick and the brunette Bladebreaker - marvelled at the view outside the south glass wall. Animated voices filled the room and there were smiles all around, everywhere but on Matilda's own face.

She couldn't do this.

"Hey," a voice came from behind her. "I know crowds aren't your thing, Matilda, but at least try to look like you're enjoying yourself. You're making us look bad."

Miguel. He sat down in the seat Mariah vacated and looked at her sternly. She knew it was an act, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him regardless. He was so good at this - at everything. He was the perfect actor, the perfect blader, the perfect friend… even as the cameras rolled and she lost resolve in their mission, he came with the perfect excuse for her reluctance to mingle. He was always looking out for her, protecting her. But he couldn't do it forever.

"I'm sorry, I just… I find it hard to introduce myself, you know that," she lied, tightening her grip on her knees and squinting at her feet. "They're all already friends," she explained. They were all so happy, she didn't want to have even the smallest part in ruining that. "What if they don't like me?" Or worse. What if they did?

But what she said was a perfectly plausible question, perfectly innocent, nothing that would get her in trouble back at base. They would never have any evidence of her doubts. She was nothing if not careful.

"Don't be silly," Miguel scolded gently, just as Mariah cried over to them from the other side of the room.

"Hey! Hey Matilda, come over here and meet Rei and his friends!" she grinned, waving energetically.

Miguel didn't miss the fear in her eyes. He stood and offered her a hand to help her up. "Come on. Just take a deep breath and be as brave as I've always known you are," he said, smiling. His clear blue eyes hid nothing. Matilda knew that he understood the real reason behind her nerves today. She knew he meant those words for everything she'd just said, and everything he knew she couldn't say. "I'll be with you every step of the way."

* * *

Kai leant his weight against the east wall, head down, hands in his pockets, near the window. It was late afternoon and the sun streamed through the glass, highlighting strange, warm tones in his hair that weren't usually seen. To everyone else in the room, he appeared to be staring resolutely through the window, going through the motions of being his usual aloof, antisocial self. In reality, he was watching Rei's reflection on the glass very carefully. He wanted to be ready to step in if the need arose.

His teammate was currently refereeing a three-way match between Mariah, Salima and the blue-haired girl from the Saint Shields team. The match was about as exciting as it could be, with all three participants holding back their best moves and Rei was not as interested in it as he was making out to be. Every now and then, he shot filthy looks across the room and there was a vein working in his jaw that set Kai on edge.

Bryan was the thing across the room at which Rei shot his dirty looks, obviously. He was in the kitchenette area with Spencer sitting on top of one of the counters, smoking away, chatting quietly. Oblivious to the looks he was receiving from Rei or not, he paid the Chinese blader absolutely no attention whatsoever.

Now, he wasn't concerned for Rei's welfare, necessarily. Though their battle in Moscow was… nasty, to say the least, Bryan was just doing what he had to do at the time. It wasn't personal, at least not for him… But for Rei, it was very personal indeed and Rei was as bad as Tyson – perhaps worse – when personal grudges were brought into the beystadium. Rei battled infinitely better with a sound mind but when riled, he slipped up and made foolish mistakes.

Kai bit his lip, wondering how to nip the situation in the bud before the tournament began, but then he became distracted by movement near the entrance. Glancing past the crowd of bladers, Kai spotted Tala and Tyson. He wondered vaguely what took them so long. Then Tyson caught his eye and began making his way across the room. Great.

Kai rolled his eyes, then closed them to the world. Maybe, if he ignored him for long enough, Tyson would get the message and give him five minutes' peace.

"Hey, Kai. Umm, what's up?"

Or not. Kai considered sighing impatiently, but then disregarded that notion. That would show he'd acknowledged Tyson's presence, which was the direct opposite of how he wanted things to look.

"So, err, about earlier…"

Kai wasn't sure what else Tyson thought he could add. He'd said plenty before, and all of it well-deserved, he supposed. Honestly, he was expecting it at some point or another. Of course, that didn't mean he wanted to listen to it. Or that he wanted Tyson to yell those things in front of everybody. How embarrassing. Idiot.

"…I'm sorry, dude."

Wait. What? Kai's eyes snapped open. He looked straight at Tyson and couldn't stop the confused expression from forming on his face. Raising an eyebrow, he asked sceptically, "… Could you repeat that?"

"I'm sorry, about... what happened earlier," Tyson said uncomfortably, looking away, fidgeting with the cap on his head. It still bore the wrinkles of his frustration out on the path.

Kai blinked. "Yeah, that's what I thought you said." So he hadn't misheard after all. How strange. "Why?"

Now it was Tyson's turn to look confused. "Because err… because I was an idiot?"

Kai snorted. Paranoia settled in, but over the years Kai learned that paranoia wasn't always wrong. He scanned the room and quickly found who he was looking for – a particular meddling redhead who was talking just a little _too_ animatedly with the rest of his team. Figures. Kai folded his arms and looked down at Tyson again. "No… No, you're not advanced enough for self-reflection. What did _he_ tell you, exactly?"

"Nothing!" Tyson replied, holding his hands up, wide-eyed and innocent-looking. Guilty, then. Too guilty to notice the insult, at any rate.

Kai narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Honestly, Tala didn't say anything! I just realised, you know… it's none of my business who you talk to and I shouldn't have said those things," Tyson explained, fidgeting with his cap between his hands. He nervously shifted his weight from foot-to-foot under the weight of Kai's glare. "So… are we cool?" he asked hesitantly, after a few seconds.

Kai smirked. "Please. Tyson, we are never _cool_ ," he said dryly.

The navy-haired teen grinned, relieved. "Alright! High five – or… not. Ha, okay. Well, I just wanted to say sorry. So now I'll leave you to your er… brooding."

"Whatever."

Tyson then trotted off happily to mingle with the other teams. He went from searching for Max to demanding a rematch from anyone within a ten-metre radius of himself to raiding the kitchenette cupboards for snacks. At all times his voice could be heard above everyone else.

"So did you two kiss and make up?" Kai looked around to see Tala standing there, smirking wryly.

"Just what did you say to him, exactly?" Kai asked.

"Oh, nothing, just used the old charm," Tala replied airily with a flick of his wrist. "Threatened to beat him to within an inch of his life… the usual."

Kai chuckled easily, smelling the bullshit but letting it slide regardless. Tyson wasn't bellyaching anymore and that was a plus any day. "I must be doing it wrong then. Never works as well for me."

"Let's do a trade, then. I'll take Tyson, whip him into shape for you. Take Bryan in return… maybe your boys can show him how to crack a smile."

"He'd sooner crack their heads."

Tala sniggered, looking over to the moody teen who seemed to have gathered they were talking about him and clearly didn't appreciate it. He glared and flipped them a bird. "Would that be so bad?"

"Yes, of course it would," Kai said defensively, frowning. "I'd be down a mechanic and two bladers for the tournament. I could win it on skill alone, of course, but unfortunately the numbers have to be in my favour, too."

Tala laughed outright. "You're such a hard-ass."

"Yep," Kai said, glancing sideways at Tala with accusation in his eyes. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't tarnish that reputation with the rest of my team, thanks," he said sarcastically.

"I deny everything," Tala said coolly.

"You always do."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Early update, because I'm so nice. Not much else to report at the moment. _

_Hope you all have great weekends!_

 _~ Indie :3_


	19. Fashionably Late

**Chapter Eighteen: Fashionably Late**

With the blazing golden sunlight streaking majestically through his hair and the birds singing their evening song through the trees behind him, Michael lead his entourage proudly down the path that wove towards the large double doors of the training facility. Even from this distance he could see that it was bigger than he'd expected – about fifty or sixty square metres, maybe larger, with two stories and an outdoor training area. Should make for a good two weeks.

"Wow. Umm… well it's a lot smaller than I expected," said Enrique behind him snobbishly with an air of disappointment. "How are we all going to fit inside?"

Someone snorted. "Perhaps that's one of the challenges too – make us figure out how to fit ourselves in like some obscene game of Tetris," he heard Rachel complain scathingly. He could practically hear the swish of her eyeballs as she rolled them. "This whole thing is a joke."

"Come on guys, this is the BBA we're talking about," Emily began to reason nasally. "I'm sure that it's much better than it -"

"Yeah, and maybe for the final challenge we'll have to pilot our own way back down the mountain in stupid little planes and into the stadium," Johnny continued, ignoring the little voice of reason.

" _Aw shit_ , I hope so," Michael tuned in enthusiastically (his nose still a little worse for wear and perhaps slightly crooked, though no longer swollen to the point of speech impediment), spinning on the spot to face them. He walked backwards down the path as he continued to speak. "That'd be sweet as fuck!"

"But _you'd_ have to do it blindfolded," Eddy amended with a grin.

"Even better," Michael laughed. "Imagine the crowd when they see me pull it off – which _obviously_ I will, 'cause, you know," he left the boast open, shrugging almost humbly.

As the group of bladers laughed and continued on down the path, Michael began to see more clearly through the windows in the doors of the training facility. Blurred movement and dark shapes passed by, giving the impression that the room was full. It looked like the other teams were here already. He hoped they weren't having too much fun without him - that would just be rude!

"Alright guys, it's time to finally get this party started, 'cause the All-Starz have arrived!" Michael announced loudly to the room after dramatically swinging the doors open with all the bravado of a person who thought he was the life and soul of the party.

"Oh brother…" Emily muttered from behind him. She stalked past without another word.

Michael had about two whole seconds in which to survey the room – beydishes lined up against the windows, some very cosy couches, a whole bunch of new faces – before his vision was completely obscured by an old familiar face bobbing up and down with excitement before him.

"Yo Michael, it's about time you got here, dude! You're late!"

" _Fashionably_ late," Michael corrected, grinning. He clasped hands with the Japanese champion as members from some of the other teams came forward to greet the new arrivals, White Tigers included. "What's up, Tyson, it's been too long. How you been?"

"Great, man. Totally great. I'm super stoked to be blading with the best of the best again!" he said excitedly.

"Tell me about it! I've got a couple of grudge-matches I'm hoping to settle, too. Speaking of which, where's little Max at?"

The grin fell off Tyson's face and he rolled his eyes and groaned. "He's over there," he answered, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "But don't bother tryn'a talk to him, you won't get a word out."

Michael peered over the crowd to where Tyson was pointing and saw Max sitting on the floor some way away by the wall, alone. He frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

"Elite four," Tyson explained simply, shaking his head and grimacing.

It was only then that the blonde noticed the power outlet that Max was attached to. "Ah," Michael said, joining in with the head shaking. He had a brief flashback of the summer that Max stayed over in New York to train with the All-Starz and help his mom in the lab. His eyes were glued to it on every bus ride. It drove Judy mad. "I see."

"Yeah, I'm surprised Kai hasn't snapped his Gameboy in half yet," Tyson said.

"Heh, don't speak too soon," Michael said, spotting the Bladebreaker captain on the other side of the room and making note of the dark looks he kept sending towards the cheery yellow little console. "I'll go see if I can pry him off it."

"Good luck with that!" Tyson smirked, already bouncing towards the rest of the team behind him.

Dodging around the crowd and launching himself over one of the navy suede couches, Michael began poking and prodding Max in the side of the head. After three pokes, Max twitched his head slightly out of the way. After seven, he gave the area a quick scratch and flicked at the air with his hand, as if batting away a fly. After thirteen pokes, he finally turned around, looking more than slightly miffed.

"Alright, just what'd'you think you're – …Michael? Michael! How long've you been here?" Max grinned, beaming up at the All-Starz captain with his bright blue eyes. He stood up to bump fists with the older blader.

"Not long enough, apparently," Michael smirked. "I hope you're not letting that thing rot your brain, dude – I want you in top condition when we have our rematch."

Max rolled his eyes. "Michael, Michael, Michael, don't you worry about a thing. I'll beat you just as easily as I did last time," he chuckled lightly.

"Oh yeah?" the All-Starz captain countered, eyebrow twitching. "If you're so confident, why don't you take out your Draciel and prove it right here and now?"

Max laughed and sat down on the floor by the outlet again. "Sorry bro, I've got bigger fish to fry. Maybe later." And without further ado, Max zoned back into his Gameboy and was deaf to the world.

* * *

Enrique wasted no time in stepping into the room and sizing up the competition.

Of course, by competition, he didn't mean the bladers. Enrique was a European champion and more than a match for the majority of the competitors in the room. For now, he wasn't concerned about blading. He wasn't even concerned about Tyson, one of the only bladers around who had tarnished his record thus far. No, Enrique was concerned about the _girls_ in the competition.

"So, Olli," he said, throwing an arm around the shoulders of his petite friend and dragging him nearer while his clear blue eyes roamed over the room. "What do you think?"

Oliver rolled his eyes, trying – and failing – to disentangle himself from the blonde. "I _think_ you should probably have better things to concern yourself with," he tittered, his voice somehow both cross and kind at the same time.

"Better?" Enrique said aghast. In his shock he let go and Oliver gladly wiggled free. "What could _possibly_ be better than mingling with the fairer sex?"

"Oh I can think of plenty of things," Oliver said with an air of superiority, smoothing his hair. "For example, getting to know the weaknesses of our competition, surveying the grounds and its equipment, not to mention – oh my goodness me, is _that_ the only kitchen? Well, that simply won't do, I must…"

The Italian rolled his eyes and tuned Oliver out as he scanned the room. There was a rather pretty, bright-pink haired girl bouncing her way towards them all, but he quickly remembered her as one of the members of the Asian team; from what he could remember of the championships in Moscow she was somewhat attached to Rei of the Bladebreakers. In other words: off-limits.

Moving swiftly on, he saw another pink-haired girl sitting on one of the couches. She was regarding the newcomers with a guarded look in her eyes and from her posture Enrique could tell she was every bit the shrinking violet; delicate, fragile and shy. In other words: too much effort.

Just as Enrique was beginning to give up hope, he saw her. Sat on the couch next to the shy girl like a mysteriously enticing enigma, he'd never seen anything quite like her before. She was exquisite; fine, porcelain skin, dark, rich hair that glinted like sapphires and sharp eyes. She was like a beautiful, midnight rose or a jewel in human form. It was almost enough to leave him breathless.

Ditching Oliver and slithering around the people and the furniture in the room, he closed the gap between himself and the gorgeous bluenette by the large glass windows, quietly reading a book. From the cover, Enrique thought it looked like a horror novel. He promptly sat down beside her and unabashedly threw his arms up in a languid stretch before smoothly letting one of them rest on the back of the seat behind her. She turned her head around to face him and cocked an eyebrow at him in question.

"So," Enrique said in his best Casanova voice, "I haven't seen you before. Where're you from – heaven?"

"Err… yeah, I'm a ghost. I died fifteen years ago, like that pick-up line," she said, scowling and scooting further away from him.

"Aw, come on, don't be like that," Enrique pleaded, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. Looked like this one would be a tough nut to crack, but his puppy-dog eyes had never failed him yet. "Okay, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Let's try this again." He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair again, for good measure. "Hello," he said in his silkiest tones. "My name's Enrique and the pleasure of meeting you is all mine."

"Oh good, because it certainly isn't mine," she smirked cruelly in reply.

Mariam promptly returned to her book at that point, leaving Enrique with nothing to do but stare dumbly at its front cover. _Heart Shaped Box_ , it was called. Very fitting. Perhaps her heart was locked away in some such a box because she certainly seemed to be lacking one right now. This midnight rose was all but wreathed in thorns. How could she resist his charms so easily like that? He'd never seen anything like it. Maybe she just wasn't human…

 _Well, it's her loss,_ he told himself consolingly. Getting to his feet, Enrique shook his head with disbelief and walked away.

* * *

Rachel had her first clear view of the room as soon as Enrique stepped away. It was large and bright and open; it was intimidating, too, for all of those reasons. It was full of people, at least thirty, and as soon as Michael flamboyantly threw open the doors like the fool he was, they'd all looked up. Within the next second, several of them had gotten to their feet and were already coming forwards.

Now, it wasn't being in a room being full of people that set her on edge. Crowds she could handle, brush off with ease. She'd spent the past few years dipping in and out of different crowds in different cities, sampling the sights and smells and sounds and resurfacing unscathed. In fact, she quite liked bustling cities, the busy, relentlessly surging life of them and the anonymity that they lent to her. In those crowds, she could be anyone. But this was different. Here, she was a blader amid a crowd of other bladers. Rachel hadn't been in a situation like this since…

She shook her head. Thinking about what happened wouldn't make things any better. Besides, she'd made her choice. She knew she could do this.

Rachel made a quick scan of the room. At the far end were three small beydishes lined up against the spectacular view of the sunset outside; all three were occupied, the pairs of bladers cast in a dramatic silhouette against the mountains. There were several small groups of people chatting animatedly on couches and several more people milling around the central area of the room. There was a small kitchen area in the far corner that she could already see Oliver's little chartreuse head bobbing daintily towards, and beside that was another set of double doors which she assumed lead to the floor above. As she watched, the doors opened and all the air was all but squeezed out of her lungs.

He was talking to the other one when he stepped through the doors, to the one with hair that blazed and eyes so bright and dazzling but so cold and sharp that their stare might cut straight through her, if he so wished. The pair walked towards the large windows, laughing easily and effortlessly parting the crowd as they went. Then his gaze, which had been trained on a match in one of the dishes, turned; and fell on her.

Bryan's pale eyes transfixed her like a thrown spear; she felt the weight of it impale her right to the floor. She stood there frozen to the spot, not altogether aware that time was passing until she felt the warmth of a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, what's up?" she heard Johnny ask.

It was a few seconds before she managed to turn her head to look at him. She wasn't sure what expression was on her face, but when Johnny saw it his eyebrows knitted together with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

His deep, lavender eyes were a familiar warmth and she remembered how to breathe. Rachel shook her head lightly and blinked, trying to dispel the daze. "Yeah," she said, smiling woodenly. "Yeah I'm fine. I just… I didn't expect there to be so many people here," she lied, finding and falling back on her tried and tested excuse. When she cast her eyes back across the room, the moment had passed; Bryan's eyes were elsewhere and he and his friend were engaged in conversation once again.

What the bloody hell was that?

Johnny grinned. "Not going shy on me now, are you?"

"Don't be silly, of course not," she replied, irritably flicking his hand off her shoulder. "I just -"

"- Aaaaaiiiiyyyesssss!"

Rachel winced and shrank away from the high-pitched squeal that came barreling towards them. One moment she was looking around the room, bewildered, and the next moment everything was obscured by a bouncy, pink blur.

"I can't believe how many girls there are in this competition! This is so exciting, I'm so excited – we're gonna show all these boys who _really_ kicks ass," she laughed, a little crazily. "Hi, my name's Mariah and it's nice to meet you!"

"Umm, hello there," Rachel replied, stepping back and waving somewhat awkwardly. She was taken aback by how forward and… bubbly this girl was. Somewhere to the side of her, Johnny snickered, but she couldn't even level a glare at him before Mariah had grabbed her by the arm and was leading her across the room. "Oh, okay. We're moving," she stated dumbly.

"Yep, we are! You _have_ to meet the others," she was saying cheerily as she skipped along. "We girls need to stick together, after all. What's your name anyway?"

"Rachel," she answered blankly. She glanced over her shoulder for help, but Johnny was already making his way to the other side of the room. When she turned around again, she saw Enrique pass her by, looking grim. She made a silent appeal with her eyes for assistance, which went quite unnoticed. Damn him. Damn them both.

Soon enough, they reached a bay of squishy looking couches by the window. Rachel only had time enough to notice that they were a rather nice shade of navy before Mariah was talking again. "Look what I found!" she announced with a giggle.

There were three girls in front of her. Two of them shared the same couch, one with a shock of bright red hair, the other with a cute bob of pale pink who looked quite as uncomfortable as Rachel felt. On the side couch sat the other girl, her impossibly long, dark blue hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She flicked her sharp, emerald eyes over the book she was reading, gestured her eyebrows towards Mariah, smirked and whispered, "…should've ran when you heard the squeal."

"So, this is Rachel," Mariah announced happily, blissfully ignorant. "And this is Salima, Matilda, and Mariam," she said, pointing to each one in turn. Then she gushed, "Sit down, sit down!"

"You've already met our tiny friend Mariah," Mariam closed the book as Rachel took the seat next to her. She was clearly very amused with the situation.

"Yeah… tiny and full of sugar," Rachel said, expressing the first thing that came to mind.

"Hey! I am not," she said defensively, "I'm just… hyped up for the competition! I'm hyped up for some girl-power!" Her little hands were balled into fists and she was pumping away.

The girls laughed and continued to trash talk the boys. Mariah and Salima enthusiastically conspired to ditch the boys and create a girls-only team while Matilda laughed politely in all the right places and Mariam sent some sly one-liners over her book. As they talked, Rachel felt the tension in her shoulders slowly begin to ebb away. This might not be so bad after all…

* * *

Johnny spared a couple of moments to chuckle lightly at Rachel's form as she was towed away before his attention was caught by something else across the room – or more specifically, someone else.

Bingo. Just the man he was looking for.

If there was one thing Johnny couldn't abide, it was an unsettled grudge, and he'd been itching for a rematch ever since he and the rest of the Majestics battled the Bladebreakers at Olympia stadium. Now, Johnny could handle defeat. He could accept that, sometimes, there were instances where an opponent may have played the game better than he did. But one thing Johnny couldn't stand was being snubbed.

'… _Now you've got all the time in the world to play golf,'_ Kai snarked after won their match at Olympia stadium. He smirked and just… brushed him off as though he were no longer a threat. Well, Johnny _had_ had plenty of time since then but he sure as hell hadn't spent it playing golf. No, Johnny had been refining his technique for such a time as this.

"So… if it isn't the great Kai Hiwatari," Johnny said as he approached the pale blader.

Kai opened his crimson eyes lazily and looked up. A small smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "McGregor," was all he said in reply.

"I've been waiting to see you all summer." Johnny narrowed his eyes competitively. "I want a rematch."

Kai's smirk widened. "Sorry. I don't blade with losers."

Johnny bristled and his jaw hit the ground, outraged. "You take that back right now," he growled, his hands balled into fists. He hadn't spent the past year training and refining his technique to be shot down like a no-name rookie! "If you're so sure of yourself, why not let your beyblade do the talking!"

Kai just laughed and simply started walking away. "No thanks."

Why that arrogant, big-headed, over-confident little...

"Get back here! I'm not finished with you!"

* * *

"Well I suppose it's not an altogether unexpected change to their line-up," Kenny muttered, tapping away on his laptop and logging the details of all the attendees.

' _Tell me about it, Chief - exchanging one brainless, rampaging bull for another... They have no creativity! No imagination! No flare!'_

"Exactly, Dizzi. And Steve was easy enough to overcome before, if this new guy is anything like him..."

' _... Then it'll be game, set and match before our boys have even launched their beyblades!'_

Kenny laughed. "Even so, I'll still monitor him over the course of the retreat, try and find any obvious weaknesses." He quickly ran a diagnostic rendering of Tyson's beyblade against Rick's current schematic that he'd... ahem, lifted from the PPB servers. The results were inconclusive - head to head they were evenly matched for strength although over time, Rick seemed to have the upper hand when it came to endurance, meaning Tyson would have to apply his brains to the battle, too, if they were matched up in the tournament. Kenny sighed, well _that_ easier said than done. Perhaps Max or Rei would be better off against this guy...

' _I'm struggling to get any recent data on that new girl with the Majestics, Chief.'_

"Huh?" Kenny grunted, only half-paying attention. The other-half of his mind was watching the projection of Max's blade against Rick's. Dizzi unceremoniously minimised the program and threw the image of an old-style BBA blader's card onto the screen. "Okay, okay, I'm listening. Wait, this is..."

' _Yep, over six years old. The last time she ever featured on the beyblading scene was at the British junior regionals in -'_

"...2009," Kenny breathed, looking at the date. "Are you sure?"

' _...Hmm. That sounded like you were questioning my researching capabilities, Chief.'_

"No, no, not at all!" Kenny replied hastily, taking his hands away from keyboard to wave them around in panic. Boy, Dizzi was tetchy today. Probably tired from keeping the laptop running all day yesterday and today after its internal battery ran out. That's why he was sat cross-legged on the floor attached to this power outlet on the wall, across the room from Max. "I'm just saying that it doesn't make sense. It would be weird for the Majestics to bring someone into the team who couldn't hold their own in a battle," he reasoned. "You remember what sore losers they all were, especially Johnny," Kenny added, glancing over the screen to see Johnny yelling at a laughing Kai. The sight of it gave him chills and he shivered. Boy, if Kai was ever laughing at him like that, Kenny would have the sense to run as fast as he could in the other direction to avoid almost certain death...

 _'Precisely. I wonder what she's been up to since then for them to take her on... mmm - oh! Apparently she went to school with rude and rowdy over there.'_

"Well there you have it," Kenny replied, satisfied that this explained everything. He brought up all the team files he'd collected. "She's just a friend of Johnny's sitting in for Robert. They probably won't even call her off the bench."

' _Johnny doesn't particularly strike me as the sentimental type.'_

Kenny sighed with a smile and rolled his eyes. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'll keep my eyes on her and Rick both. Meanwhile, you keep digging for anything you can find on the Battalion," he compromised, opening their frustratingly thin file and jiggling the mouse around with irritation. Why was there so little info on them?

It was Dizzi's turn to sigh. _'They're clean, Chief. Passed everything I threw at them. Their files are as white as your forehead!'_

"I don't trust them..." he said quietly. Then he bristled. "And what was that about my forehead?" he gasped, going pink in the face as his hands flew up to cover his forehead - a perfectly useless gesture as that was a job done quite well enough by his hair.

' _Absolutely nothing. And I'll keep looking but I really don't know what you expect me to find...'_

"Something," Kenny shrugged. "Anything." Anything more than he had on them already, which was next to nothing.

Miguel, Brookyn, Mystel and Matilda: all members of a newly world-famous beyblading team, with emphasis on _newly_ because this time last year nobody even knew who they were! Hell, nobody even knew who BEGA were, besides that they were 'an exciting new branch' of the Original Media Entertainment Global Association, or OMEGA for short. Over the last five years or so they'd gained a real strangle hold on all things sport, art and entertainment related - it was inevitable that beyblade would follow sooner or later, especially with the fiasco of the Abbey and the last World Championships... Kenny groaned, frustrated. _How_ could the BEGA Battalion just swoop in out of nowhere and win several high-profile tournaments across the globe with a blading history that didn't even span further back than last spring, it just didn't make sense! No-one got that good that quickly...

Kenny let his head fall back against the wall behind him and, beneath his glasses, he scanned the room tiredly. Maybe he was overthinking things. After all, Tyson, Max, Rei and Kai did exactly the same thing, didn't they? Of course, Kai's reputation in Japan preceded him but the rest of the Bladebreakers were absolute unknowns until Mr D brought them together and sent them around the world. Maybe it wasn't too hard to believe that the Battalion were similarly talented…

Picking Dizzi up off his lap, Kenny placed her carefully to the side and he kicked his legs out before him, stretching and yawning. Before he'd had the chance to finish, something very hard and very squeaky collided painfully with his shins.

 _"Eeeep!"_

 _"Ow ow ow!"_

 _"Kenny?"_

 _"Emily?"_

"What are you doing down there?"

"Getting stepped on, apparently!" Kenny groaned, rubbing his shins. Then he looked up to the All-Starz analyst/mechanic/over-all brains and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, picking herself up off the floor and brushing her knees. "It'll take more than a stray leg to take me out." Then she adjusted her glasses and got straight to business. Of course. "So, how have the boys been finding the new metal-series, Kenny?"

"Well, you know what Tyson and the guys are like, they take to everything like ducks to water," he said coolly, sensing Emily's intention. Data data data. Fishing for strengths to watch out for and weaknesses to exploit; he knew the All-Starz tournament preparation all too well thanks to Max. He sure as hell wasn't going to let her know that they'd be practicing with the new metal-series as of tomorrow. He changed topic. "I hear that you've been busy with developing new weight disks down at PPB – have you managed to get them operational in time for the tournament?"

Emily sniffed, as though disappointed. Almost a little too disappointed. "Not quite, no. There are still a few kinks we need to iron out."

"Mmm, that's a shame," he said, feigning a lack of interest. So that meant yes then, yes the new weight disks were ready; Kenny made a mental note to fish through their databases a little more thoroughly and warn the rest of the Bladebreakers ahead of the tournament.

Emily folded her arms and rested her weight against the arm of the chair, peering down to look at Dizzi's screen which, obviously, Kenny wiped clear the moment Emily made her intentions clear. She raised her eyebrows at him and he placed a stiff smile on his face. A stare-off hastily began. Thus the pair commenced a covert battle of wits, each trying to outsmart the other into revealing their secrets.

* * *

 _"Line up, line up – face off against the world famous, world renowned, world Champ here! Unless you're all chicken!"_

Hilary groaned and pressed her fists up against her eyes. She honestly couldn't leave the boy alone for two minutes. All she'd wanted was to have a nice refreshing shower. After three days hiking around in the Colorado Mountains in the summer in the _exact same clothes she left Tokyo in_ , she didn't think it was too much to ask. But no, she just couldn't leave Tyson alone for twenty minutes so she could freshen up without him making a fool out of himself. And when Tyson embarrassed himself, he embarrassed the team, which meant he embarrassed _her_ by extension.

"Now now, don't push, there's more than enough of me to go around, guys!"

Hilary grit her teeth, held her breath and marched across the room to where Tyson was lording it over by the beydishes _on top of one of the squishy armchairs in his filthy shoes_ brandishing his Dragoon around like he was some kind of lion tamer / rockstar / great big buffoon. The competition was getting to his head.

There was a small crowd gathered around him. Hilary gradually eased, pushed and shoved her way around the mass of arms and legs and generally went unnoticed since everybody was too busy trash talking. At one point, Hilary thought she stepped on Kane's foot and elbowed the huge, bulky, scary-looking white-haired guy in the left buttock but, thankfully, both of those transgressions went unnoticed.

"Ty-son, what on _earth_ are you doing?" she hissed as soon as she'd managed to claw her way to the front of the crowd.

"Oh Hilary, great – you made it outta the bath just in time to see me wipe the floor with all of these wannabes!" he grinned.

"Wannabe?" someone cried.

"I'll show you who the wannabe is!" called someone else.

"Tyson, get down from that chair right now! You're making us look bad!"

"No I'm not, I'm just preemptively securing our reputation!"

"Oh, well in that case, don't mind me while I preemptively secure _my_ reputation!" Hilary said through gritted teeth.

Her annoyance dumbed down her surprise that Tyson even had the word preemptively in his vocabulary, let alone that he was able to use it properly. Her mind was a one-track highway at the present, her one and only thought was to get Tyson off that chair as soon as possible and stop embarrassing them all. Where on earth was Kai and why wasn't he intervening with any of this?

"Pfft, what reputa - uaarrgghhh!" Tyson smirked, but it didn't last long as Hilary lunged forwards and grabbed him by the ankle. "Hilary!"

"Stop clowning around!"

"Actually, please do continue – I was rather beginning to enjoy the show!"

Hilary looked around at the sound of the voice, as did most other people in the room, and the general noise and hubbub died. She saw Mr Dickenson standing by the large, double doors. He had laughter in his belly and a youthful twinkle in his old eyes.

"There's never a dull moment with you around, is there, my boy?"

"Hey, it's Mr D!" Tyson yelled. He slithered out of Hilary's grasp, jumped off the chair and bounded across the room. "I wondered when you were gonna show up! Was beginning to think this was all some kinda prank…"

"Now now, Tyson, I do like to have a bit of a joke now and then but really," Dickenson chuckled, "I'm not quite that cruel!

"Now, everyone, please allow me to personally welcome you to this mountainside retreat on behalf of the BBA," Dickenson continued jovially. He tapped his cane on the floor once before continuing. "Over the past few months we have been working tirelessly alongside the BEGA Corporation to put together what we hope will be a very exciting and very useful two weeks before the big tournament in New York. We have spared no expense. For the next fourteen days, in preparation for the competition, you will have access to all that we have to offer – Beyblade parts and tools, training equipment, analysts and coaches, scenic vistas and wonderful views, you name it, we have it!

"So, if you'd all like to follow me, it will be my pleasure to show you all around."

* * *

 _A/N: Afternoon, guys! Hope you've had a good week. I sure have. Got myself a little baby hamster on Saturday. Baby Romeo. Yeah, first name Baby, second name Romeo. 8)_

 _He's so cute and fluffy!_

 _Ahem. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this one. Mostly just filler. This actually marks the last full chapter of Convergence. Yep, you heard it. I've got a short epilogue for you next week but after that you're gonna have to wait and stay tuned for the next arc, OTY: Masquerade. :3_

 _See you on Sunday with an update for Gemini! Chow!_

 _~ Indie x_


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"I trust everything is running smoothly, Dr K."

Grace Kellhardt froze. She didn't even hear him step into the lab. His voice held every muscle in her body still, just for a moment. But she quickly recovered herself. Smiling serenely, she spun slowly around in her chair. "You know… it's not often you come down here and pay me a visit. I'm touched. To what do I owe this… great pleasure?"

As always, he showed no sign of amusement or irritation at her obvious attempt to toy with him. There was, perhaps, the smallest tightening at the corners of those cold, grey eyes and a pursing of the lips that hinted at impatience, perhaps, but nothing more. "The surveillance?" he prompted emotionlessly. It was so frustrating. It was like a game, to try and squeeze some… something, out of him. Always, he resisted.

"As butter, Director," Kellhardt answered, almost smugly. "There isn't a word spoken that goes unrecorded, not a shadow that we can't see into, and nobody is any the wiser. Everything is taken care of."

As she spoke, Kellhardt gestured almost lazily around at the dozen or so labcoats that were also in the room, monitoring the monitors and scanning the scans, ensuring that each and every detail of what passed in the mountains was delivered straight into their databases.

"And the phonelines?"

"Belong to us," she said shortly, growing impatient. "Director, rest assured I have covered everything. My carefully laid out plans are never laid to waste."

He made a noise at this. Somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a breath of amusement; it was curious enough to drag her attention away from her nails. "You seem to forget the waste you left behind before I brought you out of it, Grace."

Kellhardt narrowed her dark eyes. Every single time he brought it up it was like an unwelcome slap on the face. She hated to be reminded of past failures and he knew it. "At least _my_ waste never made global news," she said icily.

At this, his mouth twisted into what she assumed was supposed to be a smile. Kellhardt had only ever seen him smile in the face of her anger and part of her resented him for that. Yes, she played around and enjoyed trying to tease responses out of him but not at the cost of her losing the game. "Only for lack of ambition," he sneered condescendingly. "But that lack is precisely why I keep you around; the uses of your anonymity, dear Grace, have no end."

She rolled her eyes. "And here I thought it was for my charm, wit and superior good-looks…."

No reply was made. Instead, his pale eyes drifted to look at something over her shoulder. "Where is the Macefield boy?"

"Hmm, Brooklyn?" She turned to look at her monitor once again. Lazily scanning through all of the sub-feeds of the bugged training centre, she saw that the enigmatic young man was not in the ground floor area or following alone with the 'tour', neither was he alone in any of the rooms upstairs. She double-checked each feed though she knew it was pointless – with his sunburst shock of hair he was hardly difficult to miss.

"I wouldn't worry," she said slowly. "I'm sure he's just found a… squirrel or some other horrid little woodland beast to befriend. You know what he's like."

"I _know_ that he's our most valuable asset and that I want eyes on him at all times."

"Director, please," Kellhardt said shortly, "Brooklyn Macefield _is_ our eyes, more so than any single camera in that pathetic little facility. Have some faith -"

"Faith is for the weak and the foolish, Grace, and I am neither. Find him." With that, the Director turned on his heel and left the lab.

Kellhardt sighed dramatically, but only once the doors had closed behind him. She snatched up her headset and patched through a signal to Brooklyn's headpiece. She didn't need to be a fortune teller to know that it would be no use, however – when the boy didn't want to be seen or found, he simply wouldn't be. But she tried regardless and was met only with silence.

"Idiot boy," she hissed to herself.

Brooklyn was fast becoming both her pride and joy and the bane of her career. The boy was beyond gifted. His potential with a blade knew no limits, his power only grew with each day and, best of all, he was remarkably susceptible to manipulation. However, she could not deny that he was a… glass cannon, of sorts. Fragile and easily set back; his mind was delicate even at the best of times, though he hid it well.

She patched another signal.

"Miguel."

The blonde was easy enough to find through the cameras. She waited impatiently as he detached himself from the group of teenagers straggling behind that bumbling oak Dickenson and found an appropriately quiet spot by the window.

" _Dr K?"_

"Miguel, before your departure I thought we were quite clear in regards to your responsibility in… managing Brooklyn."

" _Yes, crystal clear, Dr."_

"Good. Then I think it would be in your interests to act upon that."

" _I… don't follow."_

Grace pursed her thin lips, quickly losing patience. "Miguel, where is Brooklyn?"

" _Um, he's right here."_

Her brow furrowed and she checked the screens more thoroughly. Her hand flew up to her mouth and she gasped. She'd checked each feed twice over and _nothing_ escaped the Director's notice but… there Brooklyn was. Stood in partial shadow but still definitely there, beside a window from which the evening sunlight streaked through the blinds, right next to Miguel.

That wasn't possible.

* * *

"… Dr K?" Miguel whispered through the earpiece again, trying to remain cool and inconspicuous, yet his confusion shone through nonetheless. He scratched his head and waited for just another moment, but it seemed like the good doctor had gone radio silent for now.

"What's got K's knickers in a twist this time?"

Brooklyn watched as his captain glanced sideways and up towards him. But he wasn't concerned. He knew that Miguel would see nothing past his serene and pleasant smile. After all, there wasn't anything to see, anyway. "You, I expect," he said, with a hint of accusation. "What have you been doing?"

Brooklyn smile widened into innocence. "Nothing. Why?"

"Honestly, I don't really know…" the blonde said slowly, staring around the corridor thoughtfully. He scratched his head once more and pouted. "She just grilled me about where you were, like she thought you'd fallen off the mountain or something…"

"Did she really?" Brooklyn asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "That's interesting," he said mildly. He glanced sideways out of the window; his eyes caught a shaft of sunbeam through the blinds and their clear, ocean green turned magnificently amber in its light. Like the vast seas themselves, nothing within their depths was revealed.

' _You see. There is nothing from which I cannot shield you.'_

 _I know,_ Brooklyn thought. Although he was impressed that Zeus' reach could now extend so far. To blind Kellhardt's systems to his existence for no other reason than to demonstrate that he could, simply on whim, was unexpected, though not altogether surprising. _I haven't forgotten._

' _Regardless. It pleases me to remind you. With me, you are safe from all harm.'_

 _Peace, Zeus. Nothing of threat lurks beyond the shadows._

' _You are right.'_

"What are you thinking, Brook?"

The teen peeled his eyes away from the view and looked back towards Mystel. "Nothing," he said, for the second time in about as many minutes. "But it's odd for Dr. K to worry. She never seems to care for anything. I wonder what set her off…"

"I dunno." Miguel shrugged. Then he smirked. "Maybe her bugs are bugging out." Then the blonde pushed himself off the wall, chuckling at his little joke. He twitched his head, motioning that they should join the rest of the bladers for the tour.

Miguel was, of course, playing his part perfectly. He engaged with the other beybladers with a calm enthusiasm, spoke with care and listened more carefully, still. He came across as excited yet reserved in all the right measures and, naturally, played all his cards close to the chest. There was a reason the Director chose him to lead their little excursion.

Mystel, on the other hand, wore his heart on his sleeve. At first glance, Brooklyn knew that this was a boy to whom deception would never come naturally. He was about as shining a beacon of honesty as he could afford to be and it was clear as day that he was enjoying each and every second of these new places and faces. Brooklyn only hoped that he wouldn't form any attachments here that might risk him losing sight of their goal.

And then there was Matilda. Sweet, delicate, warm-hearted Matilda with shadows in her past to rival his own. Beguiling everyone with her small frame, tender attitude and honest face, she was sickened with herself. Her conscience was far too strong, she wasn't coping. It was as clear to Brooklyn as the light of day.

' _Nothing beyond the shadows can touch us,'_ Zeus continued. But he had a warning.' _Yet, pay heed to what lies within.'_

 _What do you mean?_

' _She will betray us all.'_

Brooklyn almost laughed outright at the sheer absurdity of it. Thankfully, years of practise of keeping at straight face at the orphanage paid off. Neither Miguel nor anyone else was any the wiser to his change in humour.

 _Matilda is a coward,_ Brooklyn scoffed. It was rare that he ever took such a tone with Zeus, but he rather thought the occasion called for it this time. _I know she has her doubts, but she would sooner run than betray us._

' _I have seen all of her tomorrows. I know what lies within her heart.'_

Brooklyn made no reply. Matilda would never expose them – she didn't have it in her. Zeus was just being paranoid, as always. Increasingly so, in fact. Brooklyn had felt him growing restless over the past few days. The fact confused more than worried him, but it wasn't like it hadn't ever happened before. So he simply trailed behind the group that followed Dickenson for the tour, hands resting lightly in his pockets, his eyes lazily drifting around. They talked and joked and gossiped and laughed, blissfully unaware that in a month's worth of tomorrows, everything would change.

' _We are at the turning of an age.'_

In the back of Brooklyn's head, Zeus' voice was slow, thoughtful and… apprehensive? No... hungry. No, that wasn't right either. Eager?

' _I ache, boy.'_

 _Why?_

' _The air sings. The Twelve are coming together. The day of Convergence is almost upon us.'_

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Hello, my lovelies! I hope this Friday evening is treating you all well._

 _So, here ends the first chapter of my series. It has been slow, I know, but I hope it has been at least interesting if not enjoyable. With Convergence, I wanted to tell the tale of all of our different bladers coming together, meeting and making friends, firstly because I just love writing about characters interacting but also because it has given me the chance to get used to my idea of their personalities and introduce them to you good and proper. There's a lot that I've tried to keep cannon, but there's a lot that I've changed, too._

 _Believe me, it doesn't end here. There is MUCH that will be changing. I'll just leave it at that. :3_

 _Now, I've got some BIG thank yous to say._

 _First of all to **some stuff** who has stuck around since the very beginning of this story - seriously, I'm talking 'Spaces' days here! Through all my comings and goings, my hiatuses and false promises of weekly updates, this wonderful person has done nothing but support my writing, reading and reviewing basically everything I put up. You are awesome. Thank you!_

 _ **ta shrivastava** , **adbhut** , **Raider3** and **MissAnimeMiss** , week in week out you guys are actively supporting me with your lovely comments each week. I can't even begin to say how much of an encouragement your words have been. Writing OTY and putting it out here has been quite scary at times. I write Gemini mostly for the readers but OTY is something I've spent years on (literally!), and it's a story I've thought up mostly for myself and have dared to share, and you guys have been incredible. It's so cool knowing that I've made something that other people enjoy too. So thank-you for always letting me know that you do!_

 _ **Aquila Tempestas** , I've admired you as a writer for a while now - you regularly push out quality chapters for an insane number of stories every week and it just baffles me. We've both had our ups and downs on the site, periods of frenzied writing and absences, too. When I returned after a long hiatus you were one of the first to welcome me back and that was a huge encouragement. Guys, if you haven't read any of this author's stories, then I highly suggest you do so, she's awesome and has been the inspiration for the way I characterise a number of our favourite bladers. :)_

 ** _Lady-of-Reecia_** _, no I haven't forgotten about you! You are amazing and your brilliant reviews have made the last couple of months a blast, I've had so much fun reading them! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story, and that you're so friendly and so full of exciting ideas to share. Guys, watch this space because we girls are working of something really fun for you!_

 _Finally, I want to thank each and every one of you who have left the odd review here or there, also thanks to everyone who's read and followed along with my story, I hope you've enjoyed it and that you'll be sticking around for the next installments._

 ** _WATCH THIS SPACE._** _I am taking a little down-time for now. I've got a couple side-projects that I'm working on and another story that has been in the works for a while now (*cough* years!) but has always been put on the back burner. However I am working towards an **April** 'release' for the next installment of Only the Young so if all goes to plan, you won't have too long of a wait. For those of you who read Gemini, fear not, those updates will continue on a fortnightly basis._

 _Anyway, thus ends the epic ramble. I'll let you get on with your lives now. Peace and love and, again, huge thanks for sticking around!_

 _~ Indie :3 xx_


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